Forever
by schwartzibrow
Summary: What could force Mia to reunite with her exboyfriend six years after they've broken up? MM.
1. Default Chapter

**So Schwartzibrow has decided to give you a run-of-the-mill PD fanfic for a change. But not C/J, even though that seems to be overwhelming the genre as of late. This first chapter sums up a large part of Michael and Mia's relationship, and then the actual plot starts with the next chapter. Hope you enjoy!**

I guess I could understand why Michael hadn't exhaled in a full minute. I mean, he'd been holding his breath for practically two years already.

"I love you," he whispered, for about the fourth time that minute. But it never got old with him. I didn't feel like he was putting on an act, or saying what he thought I wanted to hear just so he could get in my pants.

In reply, I shrugged off my already unbuttoned uniform shirt and pushed him back against the bed. "Let's just…not talk," I panted, brushing his lips. It's embarrassing enough for Michael to touch my breasts—I don't exactly want to hear him COMMENT on them.

To his credit, Michael just nodded and kept on nuzzling my neck. I bent my knee slightly with the intention to graze Michael between the legs—just to see his reaction. Just to see if I could even elicit reaction from Boy Wonder.

But then Michael reared back his beautiful head, biting the lip that had been so delightfully tickling my skin just a moment earlier. "Should we really be doing this when your parents are out there?"

"Mom and step-dad," I corrected quickly. "And it's not like we don't have the door locked."

I'd petitioned for door-locking privilege on my sixteenth birthday. And I guess Mr. G was too tired of walking in on our inevitable make-out sessions to fight it.

Ugh. I just said Mr. G and make-out in the same sentence.

Michael looked far from comforted. Then again, I wouldn't exactly be relaxed if I were a nineteen-year-old guy lying in his boxers in a room plastered with Lisa Frank stickers (I can't get them off the wall…I swear!). "Mia…" he said in that voice he uses when I'm 'proving my youth' (Lilly's words, not mine.) "I just don't want them to…hear anything."

"So—so you don't want to?" I stammered, my cheeks taking on their now-usual pinkish hue.

"'Course I do!" said Michael quickly. His eyes flickered over me. When he saw me watching him watch me, he smiled self-consciously. It might seem a bit belated for my boyfriend of two years to be checking me out, but I don't appreciate it any less. "Get on your shirt…we'll…we'll find somewhere. My dorm room? I mean—that is—only if you _really _want to."

I pretended to contemplate it as I buttoned up my shirt.

"Well?" he asked earnestly, zipping up his jeans.

"I _might _be up for it," I said coyly. But that was all Michael needed before he took my hand and pulled me out the door, muttering something about getting icecream to my mom.

The mere fact that he's calling it 'icecream' shows me that he's not ready.

I can't tell you how surreal it was to be laying in Michael's bed, in his dorm room, as he held my hand and pretended not to watch me pretending to sleep. "You okay?" he whispered. "I didn't…did I?"

"Didn't what?" I whispered back, even though I was fairly sure no one could hear us. Plus, Michael had put a rubber band on the door. How much more 'college' can you get?

"Hurt you?"

Cracking open an eye, I was both surprised and touched to see how worried he looked. I mean, he sure seemed to be enjoying himself at the time. "If you're happy, I'm happy," I assured him. "I should probably be getting dressed."

"That'd be a waste of time."

"Oh, yeah?" I looked back to see Michael grinning widely.

"Yeah," he murmured, pushing me back down gently. "Stay here tonight…please?"

You'd think Michael would've gotten tired of my silly teenage girl antics and whatnot…but he's still just as sweet as he's been from the beginning. He's still totally crazy about me.

I know. I'm surprised too.

As much as I wanted to spend the night with my lovely, perfect, adorable boyfriend, there were several rather important obstacles.

"It's a school night."

"You and Lilly have had slumber parties during the week before. What's so different?"

"Well," I said slowly, moving closer to him. Michael feigning innocence is one of my bigger turn-ons. "Lilly isn't 'secretly' staring at my bod under the covers."

"Let's hope not."

I kissed him for a few seconds, oddly comfortable with being totally sans clothes. "Your roommate?"

"He can sleep on the steps of the library. Believe me, he'd love it."

Giggling, I sat up anyway. "I'm leaving," I said firmly.

"Can I see you again this week?" His tone told me exactly what sort of 'seeing' he wanted to do.

"I'm leaving for Genovia on Thursday," I reminded him.

He bit his lip, staring morosely at his bare knees. "I know."

Michael continued his sad puppy act as I pulled on my school uniform, and it slowly dawned on me that I wasn't Mia Thermopolis: Eternal Virgin any more.

Sleeping with my boyfriend…my one true love…my SHINING STAR…doesn't make me a _tramp_, does it?

"I'll miss you," mumbled Michael.

If I was just some old hooker, he totally wouldn't be so steeped in sorrow right now.

"I won't be gone that long," I said quickly, trying to cheer both of us up. Because seriously, the idea of practically a month without Michael—spent in the company of Grandmere and others of that stuffy, anal type—was not my idea of a rollickin' good time.

"I understand," said Michael. "You've got responsibilities. I can dig it. But can you give your peasant boy a kiss in case you're gone before he gets a chance to bid you farewell?"

"It would be within my power to grant you this one…_small _thing."

He only too willingly accepted my generosity.

"Bye, Princess," he said as I walked back the door, pulling the covers back up over him. I pretended not to hear the slight tinge of bitterness in his tone.

I got on the plane a few days later, feeling a lot better about leaving than I usually did. Not because there was anything wrong in New York—far from it. It was something Michael had told me after that first time.

He had been smiling beatifically, giving me a teeny bite of guilt. "Why'd you wait so long?" I asked him. "I mean, you could've had other girls."

"I didn't want other girls."

"What if we had broken up before I was ready?"

He touched my cheek with three of his fingers, that smile still decorating his manly, yet beautiful features. "Don't be stupid. We've got forever."

I snuggled closer to him, knowing he was telling the truth.

**Five Years Later**

Michael walked into the bathroom, still maintaining his confident swagger. I hated him for that. Especially as I was falling apart little by little.

"So…?"

I pointed him over to the sink, where the guilty item lay, glaring at me as I fidgeted on the edge of the bathtub.

Fingering it gingerly, Michael came and sat beside me. "And this means…?"

"Positive," I breathed, shaking even more as I said it aloud. "It's positive. That means I'm…well, I guess I'm pregnant."

His face practically split in two with that wide grin I usually adore. "Really?" He let out a low whistle. "A _baby_…"

"A _baby_," I echoed, without quite the same cheer.

"We can do it, I think," he said thoughtfully. "I mean, it'll take a lot of work, sure. But we'll be just fine. Do you think we have to get married just yet? I mean, you'll start showing soon…I don't know how your grandmother would like that. Probably less than us 'living in sin' or whatever she's calling it now. But, jeeeeez, a baby? I'm…does that make me a dad?"

I nodded dumbly.

"Christ almighty, that's insane. We're gonna be parents! Do we need a crib? I think my parents have my old crib. Wouldn't that be weird? Our baby where I used to sleep. What would we name it? Do you know what it is? Does it feel different for different sexes?"

The rapid-fire questions came to a halt when he spotted the look on my face.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" I insisted, trying to plaster on that bright, cheery smile I use whenever Grandmere accuses me of slurping my tea. "I'm really psyched."

"You're not," said Michael, with that annoying knowing and concerned look he uses way too often. "You're pissed. Why are you pissed?"

"I'm not _pissed_," I said through gritted teeth. "You don't know how I'm feeling! You're not God, Michael."

Ironically enough, his name does mean "he who is like the Lord." Hopefully, he doesn't remember this—though I've sure mentioned it to him enough.

"I know," he said calmly. "I _know_. I just don't know what you'd have to be so upset about. Don't lie to me, Mia," he said when I started to protest. "I may not be God, but I'm not a moron either. I can read you."

"You wouldn't understand. I mean, it's all dandy for you to be pumped. But, Michael, I've got Genovia…and…and I just don't have _time _for a baby."

"You're not getting an abortion," said Michael abruptly.

Not that I was even considering it. But the comment still ticked me off. "You don't control me. I can do what I want. It is my body, after all."

"It's my baby," he shot back. "_Our _baby. Mia, when haven't I supported you? It's not like I couldn't help you through this. I'd be there every step of the way. Don't you want this?"

But I couldn't even get out a response. He made me sound so _horrible!_ Cold! Unfeeling! Is that how he really thought of me?

Michael didn't say anything else. He just patted me genially on the arm and looked bewildered.

"We'll talk later," he said at last. "For now, let's go and try enjoy the rest of your birthday. I can send them all home in a few minutes."

"No," I said quickly, surprising both of us. "I mean, I don't want to ruin a perfectly good party. You said we'd talk later. That's what we'll do."

More than anything, I just didn't want to think about what the coming months had in store for me.

**A Year and a Half Later**

I sat on our bed, staring at the doorway and willing the tears in the corners of my eyes to disappear.

Of all the people…of all the scummy things…I never…

Obviously, there's been some mistake. That's possible, right? Who would just throw almost nine years of complete and utter devotion out the window?

And then he strolled into the room, acting as though nothing could possibly be wrong.

"You wouldn't think Olivia would be that skilled at deceiving me into not putting her to bed. Did you see her new tooth? It's right in the front too. That's why I have to conform to every whim, you know. She's got weapons now."

He looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to say something, I guess. But I just held up the earring.

"Is that new?" asked Michael, kicking off his shoes. "Where's the other one?"

"Uh, maybe on your whore?" I said shakily, not so able to look him in the eye any more. "This isn't mine, Michael."

He gulped. And that's when I practically broke down. I wasn't inventing this. Not in the least.

"Mia, you've gotta understand. It's not like I meant to. I swear to God, Mia. I wasn't trying…Mia, I love you. I missed you. That's all it was."

I curled up in the fetal position, putting my hands over my ears and trying not to think about how great my name sounded when he said it. Because the whore's name probably sounded just as good. Michael's irritatingly perfect like that.

"Mia…" he said in a husky voice. I could see him walking towards me out of the corner of my eye. "Baby, don't—"

"What was her name?" I said abruptly.

He stopped in his tracks, clearly startled. About 1/123 of what I was feeling right then.

"What. Was. Her. Name?" I repeated slowly, spitting out each word.

Michael sat down heavily beside me on the bed, and I scooted as far away as possible.

"Heather" was his quiet response.

"Heather," I repeated, half-choking on it. "And how do you know Heather?"

The fake sing-song tone I had taken on irritated me to the bone. I can only imagine what it was doing to Michael.

But he didn't look annoyed. Just devastated. What does he have to be sorry about? He's the one laying girls left and right while I'm trying to help RUN A COUNTRY.

He chewed on his lip viciously, looking at his knees. Good. I don't think I could stand it if he turned on the puppy-dog eyes.

"She's…she's an intern at the software company. Like me. And it was just this one night." He swallowed. "When you called and said you couldn't be there for Christmas…or New Year's…or my birthday."

Way to guilt-trip me, asshat. But I clenched my jaw. I could see Michael looking my way, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of eye contact. "We've celebrated your birthday before. And you're the one always complaining about how holidays are too commercial."

"Jeez, Mia," he said, his voice breaking. "That doesn't mean I'm perfectly okay with you leaving for months at a time. I had to practically drag you here for Olivia's birthday. It shouldn't be that hard to come home. We need you here, all right?"

"Genovia needs me."

Michael wasn't even playing the 'adorably wounded' card any more. He just hopped up and stomped out of the room, practically panting in frustration.

I followed him out to the kitchen, feeling as though I was practically made of stone. Except for my eyes. Those were blinking rapidly and trying not to tear up.

On the floor of the kitchen, Michael sat, looking much the same as I probably did.

"What do you want me to do?" I said shakily. "Do you want me to choose?"

"It depends on what you'd choose," he said carefully.

I grabbed onto the table to steady myself. "I think…I think you know what I'd have to say."

And then Michael buried his face in his arms. I tried to pretend that I couldn't hear him sobbing quietly, but there was no way to ignore it. I was crying by then too.

"Then I don't want you to choose," he said hoarsely.

I threw up my arms in frustration. "We can't keep doing this. So…so I'll take the baby to Genov—"

"No," said Michael, his voice rising as he stood up, grabbing at a chair for support.

I blinked rapidly. "Michael, she's the heir. I can't just leave her. You knew when you got into this…."

"I didn't sign a freaking contract to fall in love with you!" he shouted. "I don't fucking care about your stupid rules and your stupid Parliament. I'm in love with Mia Thermopolis. And princess or no princess, you can't even bring yourself to call her Olivia, for Christ's sake."

"What am I supposed to tell them then? Sorry, I had to leave the future of the country with my ex-boyfriend in New York."

His eyes filled and he swore, stalking over to the other side of the apartment.

I watched him, feeling strangely numb. I didn't even see the same guy who would hold me so close that it hurt—but in a good way—the guy who made me pancakes every Saturday morning, the guy who said we had forever…

**Review! I know the site is supposed to go into read-only mode on Sunday, but if you could keep in mind to review anyway, that would be great. Schwartzibrow dearly enjoys reviews, and misses them greatly.**


	2. Making Time

**Thanks so much for the reviews! It's pretty nice to see those again. Schwartzibrow is pretty near finishing this story, but you guys still have at least twenty chapters to go. I hope you like it!**

Six Years Later

I sat upright in my hospital bed and gently held my belly. It feels empty.

"How are you feeling?" my grandmother asked softly, not at all in her usual tone. She sat carefully beside me on the bed.

I nodded, choosing to look at the blank white wall instead of her. She can always tell when I'm lying, even though I've managed to master the art of not flaring my nostrils anymore. "I'm fine. I'm...I'm better than fine. I'm Princess Amelia and the crown is fine...It's all fine. Right?"

Grandmere reached for my hand; I'm sure she felt how cold it was. "Amelia, I know you're health is not in jeopardy now, but the crown is not fine. Without your...womanly parts, how are you to conceive a child? An heir to the throne?"

I gaped at her. In truth, I hadn't even thought about this. How come nobody mentioned it to me BEFORE the operation? Was there something else they could have done?

"I, uh...I don't know. I don't..." Is it my fault I was too preoccupied with saving my life and such to think about the future of the country AFTER me? I mean, I thought it was enough that I was ensuring there was someone (ya know, ME) around to take over after my dad. But now, who's gonna take over after me? I bet even Sebastiano will croak before me.

"Shh," Grandmere said. "Don't worry about it right now. We've just got to get you back to your old self. Surviving cancer is one thing, but having a hysterectomy is a completely different kettle of fish. You need to relax."

Kettle of fish? I didn't know exactly what Grandmere meant by this, but I didn't particularly care to know right now. All that matters is the crown.

And that means: Olivia.

-

Two weeks after the hospital released me, and Grandmere still hasn't brought up the whole 'we need an heir' situation with me again. I think she's scared of what I'm going to say. And what it's going to mean.

Though she never said anything out loud, I think she was secretly happy when Michael and I split up. She blamed her hatred for him on the fact that he cheated on me, but I know it was around well before that. And she was never anxious for us to get married either. She probably knew it wouldn't last, and didn't want my 'good name' tarnished with the word DIVORCE.

And in hindsight, I kind of have to thank her. It was a lot easier to walk away when we didn't have any legal ties. And Michael was more emotionally attached to the baby than me. I was in Genovia for most of the first year of her life anyway.

God, I always do that. I always refer to her as 'the baby'. Even when I was still with Michael, I always called her the baby. Her name is Olivia, and I guess I've got to get used to it.

Especially if I'm going to have to go and find her now.

She must be four...no wait. She's gotta be older than that. Six?

I sat down on my bed and carefully opened the bottom drawer of my bedside table. I never open this drawer. Never.

Well, once a year. But that's it.

I was expecting to see cobwebs and spiders all over everything when I finally drummed up the courage to open it all the way, but it was clean. The only thing currently inhabiting this drawer are the letters Michael sends me once a year, on the bab...on the occasion of Olivia's birthday. Moving each letter aside, I counted six.

That must mean she's seven, since she was one when I first left.

Unbelievable. I have a seven year old child out there and I know nothing about her. What does she know about me?

I gently fingered the torn edge of the first envelope. It's the only one I've ever opened. The rest are in mint condition. I guess I'm scared to open them.

I mean, opening them is admitting that I ran out on this child, and I know nothing about her. It's like admitting that she exists, and half the time I like to live in denial. And I know Grandmere does.

That's horrible, I know. I'm a horrible mother.

I always used to kind of hate my father for never being around, but at least he called, visited, and he let me visit him whenever possible. But have I even bothered? That'd be a big fat NO.

I wonder what Michael's even told her about me? Does she know I'm the Princess of Genovia, and that that means that she too is a princess? Oh God, I'm not going to have to go into this without her knowing _anything_, am I? It'll be like when I first found out I was a princess. Only worse, because to her, I'm just a stranger.

Maybe if I lie down and close my eyes, when I wake up everything will be different. I'll still have a working uterus, and I can forget about Michael and Olivia completely...

-

My plan worked temporarily. I mean sure, I didn't magically grow a new uterus, but I forgot about my problems for a while. The letters (still unopened) went back into the drawer, and I went back into my world of denying that the love child I had with my ex-boyfriend even exists.

But then Grandmere had to ruin it all my calling one of her excruciating family meetings.

"What's this all about?" I asked as I sat down at the gigantic table we only ever use when we have a formal sit-down dinner.

"Your health," she said simply, looking sideways at dad.

"What about it?" I asked. "I'm fine. I've been fine since the operation. I'm taking all the tablets they prescribed, and I'm sticking to their rules. What's the problem?" Inside I kind of already knew where this conversation would lead, but part of my living in denial world means feigning knowledge of everything, until someone actually comes out and says the words.

"Amelia, you know very well what this is about. You can no longer produce an heir to the throne."

Did she have to say it out loud? A meaningful look is much easier to ignore.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "There's always adoption..." I suggested, knowing full well what her reaction would be to that idea.

"That's not a possibility, Mia," Dad said, looking truly sorry for me.

"And it's not necessary when you already have a child," Grandmere added. "Now, you know as much as I do that I hate admitting that you have this child out of sin, but it's now a matter of how this problem will benefit us, rather than hinder us."

I nodded sheepishly. There's not much really for me to say, is there? Inevitably, Olivia is the next princess of Genovia, and the next in line for the crown, after me.

"So now, we need to work out where we go from here."

"Does that mean I have to talk to Michael?" I asked, hoping she'd say that she'd do it for me. But I know I'm dreaming.

"No, Amelia," she said, shocking me. "You have to go see him."

Just when I thought things were going my way for once.

**An old pal makes an appearance next chapter. Actually, a few old pals.**


	3. Of Little House on the Prairie Fame

Rene barged into my room as I was in the middle of 'packing,' which was really more like throwing my clothes around and trying not to panic.

"Grandmere says it's not gentlemanly to invite yourself into a young lady's room," I teased, glad for a distraction.

A grin split his handsome face. "Grandmere also doesn't think it's very chivalrous to play strip poker with several female acquaintances in your father's office."

I neatly folded a blouse that Michael used to love, even if he was always unbuttoning it. "Well, she's right. Maybe it's about time for you to grow up."

"Just because you're twenty-eight going on eighty doesn't mean I have to be. You should really try being young for once, Mia. It's not quite the nightmare you'd imagine."

"I _was_ young," I argued, scanning the room for my navy blue skirt. "And now I'm grown up. How about testing that out?"

Rene just shook his head. "So where are you going anyway? Some week-long rave?"

"Ha ha ha," I said sardonically. "No, I'm going to New York."

This peaked Rene's interest like not much else in my 'mundane' life seems to do. "Really now? What's the occasion?"

"Believe it or not, I'm not going clubbin' or anything. It's different."

"Of course it is," said Rene absently, starting for the door.

"I'm going to see Michael."

"Moscovitz?" he said slowly, his back still to me.

"No, Michael Landon of Little House on the Prairie fame. Of course it's Michael Moscovitz."

He turned on his heel, downright gaping at me. "B-but you hate Michael! He cheated on you and made you boring and took all the joy out of your youth."

"I wouldn't put it quite that way. But I never said we're best friends or anything. It's business, not some tea party."

"If this business involves any big city parties, make sure to call me. I at least want to hear the cosmopolitan-ness. Ooh, and if you hook up with Michael, make sure to tell me all about it. But don't call. That might be going overboard."

"Rene, all I'm doing is going to Michael's apartment and collecting my daughter."

"This is so wasted on you!" he practically screeched. I don't blame him. Genovia doesn't have the hottest scene.

I'd gladly send Rene in my stead if it meant no seeing in Michael again. Because all I'm going to do is blush and stutter and then high-tail it out of there with Olivia.

Rene's right. Youth _is _wasted on me.

- - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

My nerves had just about reached breaking point as the limo pulled up to Michael's apartment. _Our _apartment. The very same in which we'd practically ripped each other's hearts to shreds.

Oh, the memories.

Lars answered my quickened breathing with arched eyebrows. "Maybe you should've called ahead."

"Lars!" I panted. "Look at me…I'm so in no state to call ahead. What would I say anyway? 'So, ex-love-of-my-life, how are things? By the way, I'm taking your baby.'"

"I wouldn't call a 7-year-old a baby. At least not to her face."

No, he's right. Jeeeez. Seven? How'd I miss all that?

Oh, yes, by being 'boring' in Genovia.

"All right," I said slowly. "Let's do this."

"Do you want me to come inside?" said Lars as we trekked up the steps.

I considered the situation. "Just…uh…just stay outside the door and if I scream or Michael starts throwing things or you hear gunfire, then you can come inside."

It was probably against protocol for Lars to allow me to enter the apartment alone, but I would have even a harder time of it if my Swedish bodyguard was hovering over us.

With Lars pretending not to watch my every move, I rapped three times on the door.

"Breathe, Princess," was Lars' whispered instruction.

But just as I inhaled, the door swung open and an apron-adorned, paint-covered Michael faced me.

"Holy shoot," he murmured, gawking at me as I choked on my attempted breath.

"I'm sorry, what?" I gasped.

His cheeks flushed, reminding me of the days when Michael would willingly let me cover him in make-up. "Sorry, self-censoring. Can-can I help you?"

I took an actual breath this time. "I was thinking…maybe we could talk."

"Talk," echoed Michael, still looking utterly bewildered. "Wanna come inside?"

He pushed the door open all the way and waved me in. As I walked past him, I looked around in wonder. It's weird how things have hardly changed. Except where there used to be pictures of Michael and me, representing our coupledom, there are now framed photographs of Michael and Olivia—the new love of his life.

"Things," I said stupidly. "How are…things?"

"Things are pretty good," he replied uncomfortably, perching on the arm of the couch as I gazed around the room. "Sorry about the mess. Olivia and I were painting, and that turned into a big war, and now I'm gonna be exchanging my paycheck for cleaning supplies…so, yeah."

"Where's Olivia?"

His forehead wrinkled as he scrutinized me. "Why are you here?"

Ah, the famous Moscovitz wit is back in action. "To see Olivia," I explained, as though talking to the girl herself. "Where is she?"

"Listen, Mia—or am I supposed to call you Amelia now?—you can't just pop in whenever you feel like it and demand to see her."

"Of course I can," I snapped. "I did give birth to her."

"You wouldn't think so."

I think it's sweet how quickly Michael and I have dropped the forced politeness and resorted to outright bickering. Really takes me back.

"Michael, I have a right to see her. She's my daughter. Andmyheir," I said, muttering the last part under my breath.

"Come again?" said Michael, his brow furrowing even more.

"She's…she's next in line for the throne."

"No, she's not," said Michael easily, though he looked a bit pissed at the reminder of anything Genovian. "She's going to have a normal life with me in New York. You're supposed to take care of the heir thing. Remember? It's like you never even knew us. That's what you wanted."

I declined the opportunity to burst into tears and sob to Michael about my dream to be perfectly normal with him in New York. I didn't think it'd be kosher.

"Look, let me explain," I said instead. "About…about a year ago I found out I had cancer."

With that one word, all the color drained from Michael's face. "Holy Jeebus," he said quietly, his knees starting to tremble. "Jeebus…how long…how long do you have?" he stammered, his hand inching toward mine. "Can I do anything?"

As much as I preferred helpful-Michael to Michael the Ass, I interrupted him. "Michael, I'm not dying. It was cervical cancer, and I was treated. I'm going to be fine, except…"

"Except what?" he said carefully, still not quite back to his normal level of douchetasticity.

I cringed, even though I really do enjoy discussing the ins and outs of my body with my bitter ex-boyfriend. "Except I had a hysterectomy. I can't have any more kids."

"Fuck," muttered Michael, his eyes widening.

**Just hit the button!**


	4. Biz Markie Put It Best

**You guys still rock very much. The story picks up the pace in the next few chapters. **

"So can I see her?" I asked, snapping a little. I just want to get this all over with.

He stood up. "She's in the bath tub."

"Okay," I replied, walking towards the door of the bathroom.

"Wait," he said quickly, reaching out and grabbing me by the arm. The warm touch of his skin against mine sent shivers up my spine.

"I still remember where the bathroom is, Michael," I told him.

"It's not that," he said, looking both awkwardly and away from me. "It's just...she doesn't really know who you are..."

I cleared my throat. "As in her mother? Or as in the princess of a country?"

"As in both," he admitted weakly.

I glared at him. How could he not have told her about me? I'm her MOTHER for crying out loud!

Though I can't say I've been the best mother since I left...but still! Didn't she ever wonder who I was?

"Look, don't be angry. You left. I was angry, and she was too young to remember you. So I kind of glossed over the whole "Your mother left us," part. No kid wants to know their mother didn't want them enough to stay in the country."

"It wasn't like that," I said, though I wasn't at all sure it wasn't true.

"Wasn't it?" he asked bitterly. Then he shook his head. "It's all in the past. You've moved on, I've moved on, we've all moved on. But I don't want to introduce you to Olivia while she's in the bathtub and can't run away."

"You think she's going to want to run away from me?" I asked, a little hurt.

"Remember when your dad told you that you were a princess and you ran to the zoo? Well, imagine that, only a stranger in your father's shoes, and a tub restricting your limits. If nothing else she's at least going to run behind my legs. She's a little shy."

I nodded. "Fair enough. So, can you get her out?"

"Go make yourself a cup of coffee. We'll be out in about five minutes." He turned to leave, but then turned back to me again. "Wait, I don't know if this is such a good idea."

"Well we've got to do something. I want to take her back to Genovia with me."

"Whoa," he said, spinning right around. "You can't just come here and take her away from me. Cancer or no cancer, she's still my daughter too and I've raised her!"

"Well what did you think I'd come here for Michael? Just a little of catch up time?"

"Obviously not. Clearly your royal duties take priority once again."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I asked, crossing my arms and facing him squarely.

"Just that your first love is, always has been, and always will be, your crown. And anything that stands in the way of that is roadkill to you."

I glared as best as I could at him. And my glaring ability is the one thing (and hopefully only thing) I inherited from Grandmere.

He sighed. "How about we just introduce you as a friend of mine, and then we'll talk about letting her _visit_ you in Genovia later. You can drop the bombshell on her then."

"Well," I said rather snottily. "If you want to lie to your daughter by saying that we're _friends_, then that's your prerogative."

"_Our_ daughter," he pointed out, shooting me down.

"Whatever. I'll be in the kitchen."

My hands were shaking by the time I opened the coffee jar and made myself a cup. I really need this to calm me down. I didn't think this would be so hard. I thought I'd walk in, take her and walk away again.

Well, when you put it like that it sounds like kidnapping, but I just mean I didn't think there'd be this much resistance.

A few minutes later and my hands were stable. Then a little girl walked into the room and I almost fell off my stool.

She stared up uneasily at me, her big brown eyes sucking me in like her fathers used to all those years ago. "Hi," she said quietly, playing with a strand of wet, blonde hair.

I bent down to her level and struggled to find my voice. "Hi," I finally managed. "You must be Olivia."

She nodded, then turned around and headed straight for the comfort of the tall pair of legs standing in the doorway. Legs I hadn't even realized were there.

I stood up straight again to see Michael was grinning at me. Or at the situation, I'm not sure. After all, it looks to me like the girl hates me already, and she doesn't even know who I am yet! That'd sure put a smile on daddy's face.

"Olivia, sweetie," Michael said, shocking me with the calm, gentle voice he was using. "This is the lady I wanted you to meet. This is Mia."

Her little blonde head stuck out the side of Michael's right leg. She was sucking her thumb as urgently as if it had honey smeared on it. "Hi," she said again. "Nice to meet you."

Well, he's taught the girl manners, I'll give him that. Grandmere would be impressed. Maybe she won't need as many princess lessons as I did.

"Who are you?" she asked, causing me to look up from her pretty face and into Michael's. _Who am I? __  
_  
"She's just a friend, honey. She's going to be hanging around for a while, she wants to get to know you."

He makes my intentions sound so much nicer than I would have. I feel like an ass.

She nodded and removed her thumb. "Is she coming to dinner, daddy?"

"No," we both said in unison.

He looked at me. "We always go out to dinner on Monday nights. Just to Chuck-E-Cheese. It's tradition."

"Oh," I said, wondering what other little traditions they have...Wondering what I missed out on.

No, I didn't miss out on anything. Michael's the one who missed out on me when he slept with that whore. I didn't miss out on anything...

Though looking into that adorable little face, I can't help but let my firm beliefs waver a little.

Maybe I did miss out on something.

**Don't be afraid to tell Schwartzibrow what you think. Schwartzibrow loves constructive criticism. And praise--if you have any.**


	5. War! What Is It Good For?

**You're not meant to fully sympathize with Mia. But it is important to understand that she's trying to shoulder the weight of being crown princess, and Michael and her family refused to comply with each other. Now she's just trying to do her duty with as little involvement on Michael's part as possible. More will be explained later.**

**Oh, and the Biz Markie reference in last chapter's title was because of his hit, "Just a Friend" and how Michael introduces Mia to Olivia.**

Before we parted ways, I made plans with Michael to stop by the loft again the next morning.

It's so weird knowing Michael in this context. I mean, over the years I've known him as Lilly's brother, object of my secret affection, first kiss (I don't count Josh Richter), first love…first everything, really.

And now the only role he's assuming is 'father of my unsuspecting child.' Precious.

Michael always was a good actor, though. "I love you more than anything, Mia…Anything for you, Mia…We've got forever, Mia…"

I banished all these thoughts out of my head as I approached Michael's door the next day. Already my head ached from a night of tossing and turning in an unfamiliar bed, though I don't think hotel sheets were the problem.

Lars smirked behind his sunglasses, stuffing his beefy hands into the pockets of his trench coat. "I think it'd be all right to ring the buzzer, Princess. After all, it's been ten minutes."

I shot a glare his way, suddenly not liking this friends-ish arrangement we've fallen into. And anyway, you don't mock your friends when they're just the least bit hesitant to spend a whole day with their estranged daughter.

Would it even help if Olivia knew who I was?

Lars sighed and reached over my shoulder to jab at the buzzer.

_Stay calm. He _is _about one thousand pounds of pure muscle. You couldn't take Rene…you most definitely can't take him._

"Thanks!" I said, faking cheery in a way nobody but a reluctant teenage princess can. And Rene thinks I've lost my youth.

"Who's there?" called a tinny voice.

"Mia!"

Pause. "Oh…come on up!"

That's easier said than done.

In the time it took me to hike up Michael's stares and hesitantly open his door, he had managed to forget all about our brief intercom exchange. Instead, he was engaged in what seemed to be a no-holds-barred, tickle free-for-all with Olivia.

Surprisingly enough, she seemed to be getting the better of him, kneeling over him and giggling just as much as he was, though without the tears streaming down her cheeks. Thattagirl. Michael always did suck at tickling.

"Oh, hey, Mia! I forgot you were coming," said Michael casually, regaining his breath. Olivia looked up at me quizzically as I did my best not to fume.

_OH, HEY, MIA?_

"Hey!" I said, still in I'm-definitely-psyched-and-not-terrified-slash-pissed mode. "You guys look like you're having fun."

Olivia had totally clammed up at that point, preferring to bury her head in Michael's shoulder as he tried not to smirk.

But he didn't try that hard.

I refused to sink to Michael's level, though. I mean, this isn't a WAR. It's our daughter!

"So, Olivia," I said sweetly, crouching down, "What's your favorite color?"

Okay, now he's outright giggling.

She made no response, though, except to hug Michael tighter. When I was her age, I was absolutely petrified of teddy bears, which I'll admit is a tad weird. But to have a phobia about your mother? That's supposed to wait until you're at least in college, isn't it?

"Michael," I said, through gritted teeth. I can't be blamed for getting a bit peeved. After all, he's in no way helping me reconnect with _our _child. "Can I see you in the kitchen?"

"What for?" he asked, all innocently.

I didn't know how well "to kick your ass" would bode, so I stuck with a firm "_because_."

Thankfully, he obliged, peeling Olivia off of him. "I'm just going to talk to my good friend Mia for a second." She whispered something in his ear. "Of course I'll be careful," he assured her.

Oh, for Christ's sake.

"What are you doing?" I hissed at him once we were in the kitchen.

"What do you mean?" he asked, still looking supremely nonplussed.

"You're sabotaging this on purpose! She isn't just yours, you know. If I want to talk to her, I can. If I want to take her to Genovia, I sure as hell will."

His expression stayed blank while his voice turned to ice. "Forget about it, Mia. You gave all that up years ago."

"I never cheated," I reminded him.

I watched with triumph as his face clouded over. "You might as well have. Genovia's your fuck-buddy far more than I ever was."

For a moment, I was torn between which was more offensive to me. Is that all Michael has labeled our relationship as? Some torrid sex affair?

And by no means would I ever associate my role in Genovia with any sort of sex.

"Michael," I said, an ounce of pleading creeping into my voice. "I'm not here to ruin your life or barge into your cozy little world. But Olivia…she's my daughter. And it turns out she's in line for the throne. I know we didn't plan on it, but jeez, Michael, you know how things are. I can't just tell them that there's no future ruler of Genovia because her father was being childish."

He clenched his jaw, looking contemplative in a way that only Oprah and the Enquirer brought about.

"Okay," he said finally.

_Clunk! _went my jaw as it hit the floor.

"You don't have to feed me any more Genovia shit because, honestly, I couldn't care less. But since…since it doesn't seem like…since you've got these obli…since she really is…we'll go."

"We'll?" I echoed.

"_We'll_," said Michael firmly. "You, me, and Olivia. When's our flight?"

Oh, Jeebus.

**You know the drill!**


	6. Total Eclipse

**Liss, you always hate the great characters. You should know what I'm talking about.**

The long flight back to Genovia was exceedingly tedious. Especially because Olivia practically refused to talk to me. Just because I lost my temper with her a little, she had to go and clam up completely.

And okay, maybe I shouldn't have yelled at her to "Put that down!" but she was opening my cosmetics bag in the middle of the airport! Grandmere always says a lady's toiletries are a very personal thing, and I happen to agree with her on that. Besides, I was nervous enough about bringing Michael back to Genovia. Grandmere is going to eat me alive when she sees him.

And Rene will never let me live it down. This'll go down in the 'Things Mia Has Failed At' book for sure. It's funny that my book is twice as thick as his. Not. Since when does "putting the country above most everything else for six years" pale in comparison to "participating in a court diving contest in just a thong"?

It doesn't even matter what I gave up to be princess. Just that I can't seem to do it correctly, at least in Grandmere's eyes. I've been pretty alright these past few years. Aside from the constant pain in my knee from curtsying, and the good exercise Grandmere's many meat courses give my upchuck reflex, I think I've been personally alright too.

Michael had always seemed convinced that it was _us _against Genovia. There were times I wasn't even sure if he remembered that I wasn't just his little girlfriend, but princess to over 50,000 people. You think it'd be hard to forget that.

Which is why I'm pretty grateful we broke up when we did. Can you imagine him walking in on my coronation and being all, "Wait, what?"

Definitely not Prince Consort material.

So the Private Genovian Jet was quite somber when we finally arrived on Genovian soil. I hastened to remind Michael of how welcoming my grandmother always is.

"You think I've forgotten how scary your grandma is? That's one thing that I'll never forget. The image of her shaving her armpits and then screaming at us when we walked in on her at the Plaza that time still haunts my dreams at night."

I scowled at him, trying to maintain my cool facade, even though the memory of that day made me want to laugh out loud. "And do I haunt your dreams at night too, Michael?"

He looked shocked for a second. Then he picked up his hand luggage and walked past me out the door without a word. Olivia was already outside with an attendant.

I sighed and followed him out, shielding my eyes from the bright Genovian sun. I swear, sometimes I think Genovia is on its own little planet, revolving only about 2 feet from the sun. Grandmere is of the opinion that the planets revolve around _her_.

Fortunately my hand also shielded me from seeing the shocked look on Grandmere's face when she saw Michael standing there. Grandmere shocked is not a pretty sight. Her eyes bulge out, making the eyeliner tattoos even scarier, and she gains about fifty new wrinkles. It's why Grandmere always tells me to expect the unexpected. That way, you won't look totally unattractive to the press and others.

"Amelia," she said sternly. "Come here, please."

"Bonjour, Grandmere," I said, kissing her on both cheeks. It never harms to suck up a little when anticipating the Wrath of Grandmere.

"What is..._that boy_ doing here? You were just supposed to collect the child, not the father too!" Her French was fast and I struggled to comprehend it. Usually she talks in English to me, since I always struggle with French, but I guess she doesn't want Michael over hearing.

I don't think it would be wise to point out that Michael speaks French, Spanish and Portuguese more fluently than I ever will.

"There were some...complications. The only way I could get Olivia here was if Michael came too."

She shook her head and muttered that it was completely unacceptable. "Well you could have at least told me this over the phone when you told me you haven't told the child who she is yet. Some warning would be appreciated, Amelia. And while we're on the subject, keeping the child in the dark about you, and about her role in the family, is NOT what I recommend."

"Sorry, Grandmere," I said, hanging my head slightly. I'd been wondering when Grandmere would snap back into her usual self. The pity party she threw me after my hysterectomy could only last so long. And it wasn't about to beat the record of my dad's 21st, where—rumor has it—Grandmere ended the night by climbing atop the piano and belting out "Total Eclipse of the Heart."

My dad keeps the key to the liquor cabinet now.

"Yes, well...we'll rectify the situation later. Come along."

She turned around and headed for a long, black stretch limo. I motioned for Michael and Olivia to follow us.

"I see your Grandmother still adores me," Michael said mockingly.

"She just wasn't expecting you, is all."

"Don't sugar coat it, Mia. I heard her. I probably heard her better than you since you were never too good with your French."

"Don't pretend you still know me, Michael," I said bluntly, even though he's totally right about my French. "In fact, don't pretend like you ever knew me."

With that, I slid into the limo and turned away from him as he clambered in beside me.

-

I pushed open the huge oak doors to the front of the castle and stepped inside, leaving it open for Grandmere, Michael, Olivia and the guys carrying our bags behind me.

Grandmere pushed past me and stomped off towards dad's office. She hasn't spoken a word since she bit my head off at the airport. The luggage carriers walked past too after I told them to set Michael and Olivia up in the Blue room.

"Still looks the same," Michael commented. I forgot that he's been here before. A few times actually when I was younger and thought I couldn't live a few weeks without him. Ha, what a fool I was; I've been doing perfectly fine without him the last six years.

"Yep," I agreed, looking around the dark, cold lobby. "Centuries old castles tend to stay the same after a while. You know, to preserve it or whatever."

He nodded and picked Olivia up so she could see more of her surroundings.

"Welcome back!" a jovial voice announced from the top of the stair landing. "How was it?"

I looked up to see Rene bounding down the stairs, taking them two by two.

God, doesn't he ever go home?

I started to reply, when he cut me off. He'd reached our level by then.

"Is this her?" he gasped, standing right in front of Michael, who was holding Olivia. He reached out and fingered a lock of her long, blonde hair. "Wow, Mia. She looks just like you."

I stepped forwards to hold him back from her, because she was pulling away. And also to stop him from saying something he shouldn't say in front of her, since she doesn't know why she should look like me at all.

"She's gorgeous," he continued. "Aren't you, darlin'? Are you having fun with your mommy?"

"Rene!" I hissed, finally grabbing him by the arm and pulling him away. "She doesn't know!"

"Doesn't know what?" he asked innocently, looking from me to Michael. "Jeez, Mia, you weren't supposed to bring daddy with you, Grandmere's gonna kill you."

"I'M going to kill YOU," I stressed, looking worriedly at Olivia. Did she understand what Rene meant?

My heart stopped as she whispered something in Michael's ear.

"No, honey," Michael said, sneaking a look back at me. "She IS your mommy."

The look on little Olivia's face was not one of love when she finally tore her face from daddy's shoulder.

Great. Is that really the best way to find out who your estranged mother is?

**Tell me what you think!**


	7. Clarisse Jr

**Thanks for all the great reviews! Even though most of you hate the characters, I'm glad you're sticking with the story. Hopefully things will go your way soon.**

I walked quickly down the hallway with Michael, who was toting a practically hysterical Olivia in his arms. Her big brown eyes were now red and squinty as she threw me glares every five seconds.

It's bad enough that my own daughter completely despises me. But did she have to bring The Eyes into it? I _loved _those eyes!

"I freaked out like this too," I said to the blubbering little figure, desperately attempting to make amends. "I know what you're going through. I mean, I was screaming and crying and wishing I was a penguin…"

Michael threw me a strange look just as Olivia lifted up her head and burned me with The Eyes. One of my few good Michael memories—so down the drain. "You're not my mom and I'm not staying here and I'm NOT talking to you!"

Sweet Lord, she really is mine. Except I so had way more things to bottle up and explode about. I mean, she's just on acquaintance level with Clarisse Renaldo right now. Just wait until she's faced with the flashcards. Good Lord, the _flashcards_.

To no great surprise, Michael made no move to ingratiate me to our daughter. "How long does it take to find a freaking guest room?"

"I know you're used to rat-infested dumps," I snarked, "but you shouldn't be surprised that things are a bit nicer at a palace."

"You're a lot prettier when you're not being snotty," said Michael shortly, looking any which way but mine.

I stopped in my tracks, staring at him as he continued on without me.

Me, pretty? If he'd look at me enough, he'd see this horrid pantsuit. Or those oversized shifts that make me look way past my prime. Which, come to think of it, I am.

But Michael Moscovitz? 3rd hottest in his class at AEHS? 5th in the HISTORY?

He thinks I'm pretty!

I might have to go brag to Rene later.

If only this weren't the same as the scumbag who desecrated our blissful union by inviting some immoral skank into OUR bed. The very same mattress on which we created the darling little kid that hates my guts!

Or was it that time on his desk at work whenever everyone else was at lunch?

I don't want to even think about how many times he had _her _at work.

"Where's our room?" called Michael impatiently.

Employing a very-unprincess-like jog, I met up with him and gestured to the door right in front of us. "Here's the nursery."

"Nursery?" said Michael, and the contemptuous look on Olivia's face expressed the same skepticism.

"Well, you'll be down the hall just a ways. But yeah, Olivia's here. Don't worry," I assured them both. "I'm right here next door."

This didn't seem to calm their nerves any. I stood there awkwardly as Olivia whispered into her father's ear. It'll be a miracle if she ever whispers a single word in mine.

"I'm sleeping in the nursery," announced Michael, shifting Olivia to his other hip.

"Uh, no, you're not. Michael, do you know how much I begged for you not to have to sleep in the _dungeon_! Grandmere would totally flip."

Okay, so we don't have a dungeon. But she wanted him to bunk with Lars, who has got a major foot problem. With the _odor_ of his feet, to be precise.

Michael ignored my pleading and opened the door to the nursery. "I appreciate your efforts, Your Highness," he smirked. "But I think this is the best arrangement."

"But Gran—"

"Grandmere can drag my…_bottom_ out of here if she feels it necessary."

And then he just closed the door behind me.

Fuming by that point, I waited all of ten seconds before barreling in there with full intention of chewing him out.

But I was stopped in my tracks by the scene before me.

Michael lay on the queen-sized (or would it be princess-sized?) bed with Olivia in his lap, holding her close as she sniffled into his shirt front. "Yeah, she's a princess."

"How'd you meet a princess? Are you a prince?"

"Nah," Michael chuckled. "She wasn't a princess when I fell for her. But I dealt with it when it came along. It used to not get in the way so much."

She pressed her golden little head up against his chest. "I don't wanna be a princess. I hate her and I hate this place and I wanna go home. Can we go home tomorrow?"

He was looking far too agreeable for me not to step in and interject. I did feel kind of bad after I cleared my throat. More so for myself than anything. Should a child look that upset to see her own mother?

"Hey…sweetie. Um, I was thinking maybe you might want to go to the beach tomorrow? My cousin Sebastiano's kids will be there. You guys would probably get along great."

"I don't know, Mia," said Michael slowly. "I think we might head home. She knows now, so I'll just explain things further and in a few years, we can talk again. I'm sure you'd enjoy that."

A slight pang in my heart caused me to hesitate for a few seconds. "But you don't even know the full extent of the situation," I said bossily, doing my best to overcome the catch in my throat. I just never knew there were two people out there who absolutely despised me. One even came to that decision within five seconds of meeting me!

But even that's not as awful as the one person who knows everything about me growing to hate my guts.

"She needs to meet the people, and…and…learn about Genovia. Learn how to be a princess. The sooner she takes on the role, the easier it'll be for her to grow accustomed to it."

I tried not to flinch as Olivia burst into tears again. Michael wrapped his arms around her and looked up at me in wonder. "Who are you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Not a thing, Clarisse Jr. Not a thing."

I pulled myself together enough to walk shakily out of the room, trying to block out the sounds of my daughter's muffled sobbing.

Except she's not _my _daughter. I gave her up in favor of Genovia. I threw it _all _away.

But it was worth it, wasn't it? They were holding me back. They were spreading me too thin and distracting me from my real duty. I was born to do this. I was _made _for this task.

Or at least I was molded into someone who can take care of it for me.

I locked myself in my room and curled up on my window seat, gulping and gulping and trying to forget about how cold Michael's eyes where when they deigned to gaze my way. How much of a disappointment I was to Olivia. And, of course, that final blow of Michael's.

He must've known it would sting. After all, he did used to stay up with me all night after Grandmere had done something totally heinous, like fabricate some article on my budding romance with Prince Harry. He saw me cry. He heard me bitch and moan.

And how he's watching me flit around, playing the pretty, pretty princess to the peasants I used to call family.

With a slightly trembling jaw, but determined mindset, I knelt down by my bureau and scooped out the letters once more.

Six letters. One for each year I missed. One for each year that passed while I worked my hardest to blank them out. One times a million for all the times I had to remind myself that I didn't care.

As I was dumping the envelopes back in the drawer, a smaller, slightly more crumpled one fluttered down to the floor.

I stared at the postmark…two and a half years after I left. For once, I had actually managed to block something out.

Without pausing, I tore into the envelope, eager for some sort of idea as to what they'd been up to while I was plastering a smile on my face for the cameras.

The note inside gave me reassurance that I was missed…more than I ever wanted.

_I don't know what the deal is. Maybe I've got the wrong address. Maybe you're reading this and laughing. You probably haven't even opened it up. God, Mia, how can you do this? How am I the one crying to the Beach Boys and trying not to get completely pissed before 9 AM? You were the fucking headcase. You were the one who wouldn't listen when I assured you I loved you. You're the one who can't even handle looking at your own daughter. You fucking left her, Mia. 50,000 idiots mean more to you than she ever will. I don't even care any more. When she asks about you, I'm going to tell her the truth. Not some happy-go-lucky fucking lie about you being in a happier place. Because Genovia's a goddamn hellhole and we both know that. No, I'm telling 'the baby' that you cared more for your fucking goddamn piece of shit tiara. I'm telling her that the girl I loved and supported as much as I could decided I wasn't worth it one day. That trying for any sort of relationship was just a bit too much if she were going to sit her bony ass in some goddamn throne without a care in the world._

_What did I do anyway? And don't even bring up the girl from work because we both know you were gone long before that happened. I just don't fully grasp how you managed to pull this off. Hey, maybe it's like you and Algebra. Remember when I used to tutor you? When you didn't pick up on the little hints I dropped about being head-over-fucking-heels for you? That's sort of what it's like now, because the goddamn of it all is that I'm not even mad. I'm confused and depressed and angry too, but more at myself than anyone. I need you. Olivia does too. I don't know exactly what I'm supposed to do when she wants to talk about boys or tampons or whatever your domain is. I don't know how we'll handle chick flicks and painting each other's toenails and learning how to ignore Lana Weinberger. I do know that I'm not hoping any more. You're not coming back. You're not paying attention. And you're certainly not on the same page as me._

_I'll go this alone, I guess. From here on out, I'm not listening for your key in the lock. I'm not imagining you hogging my pillow. You're no longer going to be the woman in my life._

_I'm even blanking on our old plans. Were we ever going to get married? Would Grandmere accept me some time in the next century? Was it all just kinda pointless from the beginning?_

_I'll write it here then. No more after this. I'm not even going to think about it after this. If I read through this letter, I guarantee it'd be in a million pieces within seconds. So here goes…_

_I'll miss you, Mia Thermopolis._

I tossed the letter onto the ground and dove onto my bed, burying my blubbering face into the veritable mountain of pillows.

You know what sucks the most? Besides the fact that I alienated the one guy I ever really wanted? He didn't even really apologize. I don't think he ever will.

Just…I don't get it. The Michael Moscovitz I was fairly sure I knew would've apologized to LANA WEINBERGER if he ran into her in the hallway or something. But just because he's under the impression that I've morphed into some clone of my grandmother (God forbid), he's not even going to try and gain forgiveness for the most humiliating event of my life.

That's right. I actually managed to top Josh Richter and the Cultural Diversity dance.

If he had just said "I'm sorry!" He could've sat me down, looked me straight in the eye, and said, "I want to make this work." He could have maybe SUPPORTED me in a role I really had no choice but to fulfill…

But no. He just let it all go. He let me go. Not that I'm this great catch to begin with, but something about Michael's letter signified that I meant something to him.

If I was so goddamned important, then how come the one time he was honest with me was to say "Have a nice life, bitch"? We both knew we were in trouble. So what was so scary about just talking things out? Michael and I were by no means just a sex thing.

But he said goodbye. I said goodbye. Or at least I will now.

The whole problem with shutting out that part of my life is that I kind of can't. Especially not now. I was pretty sure I had for a while, but honestly…why would I have kept all his correspondence? Aren't you supposed to return that stuff, or am I going completely 19th century here?

Never mind that, though. I'm…I'm going to focus on what's important. I'm gonna find out what exactly I shut out.

My fingers tentativelyclosed aroundthe nearest envelope, and I inwardly prepared myself for a very long night.

**Don't forget to review!**


	8. Jello Fetish

**SapeloSweetie, xiao chan, and jacki: I'm completely honored that you're reading my story, as I love all of y'all's. Now update!**

**Oh, and you should all check out the story "Phenomenal Woman," by Mrs. Hector Elizondo. It's under the PD section of this site. And it's beautiful (this is coming from a normally militant anti-C/J-er.)**

Ch. 8

I stayed awake until 3AM reading those letters. All of them. From the first one when Olivia was two, to the last when she had her last birthday. Michael always sent them just after her birthday, though I never realized it at the time.

The first two were written with love, you could tell. Michael would ask me questions, tell me he missed me, and that he wished I was there sharing his experiences with him. But then, after the time of the small letter I read first, the letters were distant. Michael addressed me as Miss Thermopolis, and never again mentioned anything about Us. It was all about Olivia.

He didn't miss me any more.

I pored over them intently, though my eyes had grown more than a little weary by the time the sun rose. With my nose practically skimming the pages, I could even see the tiny little etch marks that went into each one of Michael's letters. All these years he kept in touch and I just didn't even bother. Not necessarily with Michael. Personally, I find that understandable. But this wasn't about us.

Was he right about me becoming cold and inhuman? Not necessarily his words, but I read—or rather, _listened _between the lines.

No. I can't think like that. I'm the next in line for the throne. It wouldn't have worked if I'd stayed with Michael and Olivia. I'd have ended up resenting them, and they would have hated me for it.

Though they hate me now anyway, so what's the difference?

I have decided though, that I can't let them leave the country hating me like this. Not only is it not fair since I'm only doing what's best for my country, but it's just not healthy. Such resentment towards people should only be reserved for people who really deserve it. Like Grandmere. I'd understand if Olivia hated Grandmere, but her own mother? She doesn't even know me!

And I guess if I'm going to win over Olivia, I'll need Michael's cooperation, which would probably include actually speaking to him. The dread that filled me at the thought of this may have seemed a bit melodramatic, but I felt it was fully deserved.

How can I look him in the face after reading what I read? It was all so much easier when I thought we had been on the same page when I skipped out of there. I thought…well, I thought he understood why I couldn't stay.

Except how could he when even I don't? At least not any more.

I went to bed with pieces from each of the letters swimming around and around in my head...

_Olivia took her first steps today, you should have seen her. She wanted her Elmo doll, so she just got up and walked towards it... _

_She likes peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Something I could never understand, but she loves them... _

_When she smiled today, I could see you. She looks exactly like you, except she has my eyes... _

_...first word was 'jello'. She has a fetish for red jello, which I think she gets from you since I can't stand the stuff. _

_She needs you...I need you. Please come back..._

-

Bright and early the next morning (a princess never sleeps past nine, even when they were up until five the night before) I knocked on the nursery door and let myself in.

Michael and Olivia were fast asleep; Olivia's thumb securely in her mouth and Michael's arm wrapped protectively around her waist, as if he were afraid someone would try to kidnap her.

I sat down tentatively on the side of the bed and shook Michael gently. Finally, he cracked an eye open.

"What time is it?" he whispered.

"Almost eight thirty," I replied, staring at Olivia's sleeping form. She's so beautiful, I never expected a child of mine to turn out so...perfect. At that age I was constantly tripping and cutting my own hair and accidentally destroying my mom's artwork. I wasn't what most would consider 'precious.' "I was thinking, I'd really like for you and Olivia could hang around for a while. You know, so I could get to know her."

Michael sat up uneasily, careful not to wake Olivia. "I don't know, Mia." In the haze of sleep, he seemed to act almost human towards me. "Liv really wants to get home, I think the shock of this all is a bit much for her to handle. You can understand that, can't you?"

I nodded, straining to see his side. For a girl who's read To Kill a Mockingbird nine times, I sure have a tough time of "crawling around other people's skin." Though one look at Grandmere—not to mention Michael and Olivia—will tell you that I'm quite good at least getting _under _the skin. "But what if you don't stay in the castle? Grandmere has a beautiful beach house not far from here, you could stay there...Maybe I could even stay with you?"

He sighed and took a minute to think about it. "I guess it can't hurt to ask Liv, but I'm telling you, if she wants to go home, we're on the first flight outta here. I'm not putting her through any sort of emotional shit she's not old enough to deal with. Christ, Mia, you practically had a meltdown when you found out who your dad was, and you were fourteen! Imagine what it's like for her."

I nodded. This time I could actually see his point. At least Olivia didn't have a Josh Richter-type to deal with. "I understand, Michael. And I'm not trying to make things hard for her. I just...I want to spend some time with her, is all. Surely YOU can understand that?"

"Okay, okay, I'll talk to her. But I want to talk to her _alone_, okay?"

"Fair enough. I'll be downstairs getting breakfast organized."

I stood up and started to walk away, just as Olivia woke up.

"What's _she_ doing here?" she asked rudely, both sleep and anger causing her to squint her eyes at me.

I took a deep breath and composed myself before turning around. "Good morning, Olivia. Would you like some breakfast?"

She shrugged and looked at her father. "Are we going home today?"

I gave up and walked right out the door.

-

Michael came into the kitchen about ten minutes after I'd left him and Olivia. I felt a slight pang when I saw that he still had that slight swagger to his hips. Or rather, the space between his legs and torso. Michael was completely lacking butt-wise.

"She's agreed to think about staying a little while. She says she'd like to go to the beach like you'd suggested, and she'd like to meet Sebastiano's kids."

Great. So she wants to stay for the kids, but not for me. I suppose beggars can't be choosers though, I'll take what I can get.

I forced a smile. "Great! Is she coming down for breakfast? I'm making waffles."

"YOU'RE actually making them?" he asked, a sly grin playing on his lips.

I cringed. "Well, I'm having them made. But I asked for them especially for her, I know she likes them."

Thank you letter number five.

"And here I was thinking you'd never read those letters I'd sent," he said, in a tone I couldn't quite place as happy or disbelieving. "But anyway, she said she'd only eat breakfast if she could eat it in the nursery."

Wow, she won't even eat breakfast with me. I'm doing just spectacular so far!

"Fine," I said, a grim look masked by a totally fake smile. I shoved a plate of fresh waffles and syrup at him. "Here you go then. I hope she enjoys them. I'll call Sebastiano and arrange a time to meet him for the beach. But we can go in about an hour anyway. Make sure you're both packed up and ready."

I stormed out of the kitchen before he could object.

"Grandmere?" I stepped into her office, smoothing down my skirt and praying for the flush in my cheeks to die down.

She barely glanced up from the letter she was writing. Handwritten correspondence was immensely preferable to electronic communication in her opinion.

I walked in further. "Hi, Grandmere!" I said in a falsely bright tone. "How are you?"

"Amelia, I really don't have time for this. Have you sent the boy home?"

"Well…"

"Does the girl know? Is she prepared to take on her role? Are you ready to be a mother?"

All right already with the third degree! As if Grandmere has any right to accuse me of being an unworthy parent. She totally scarred Dad for eternity with her _excellent_ maternal habits.

But I answered her questions anyhow. I've grown accustomed to just succumbing to Grandmere's harshness. It's just easier. "She knows. I…well, being seven years old, I doubt she's fully qualified to handle an entire country. Nor required, at this point. But I'd like to get to know her. So I was thinking we could use the beach house for a while. Just to get her away from all the royalty and everything. It's way easier to conduct normal relationships away from moldy tapestries."

Grandmere looked slightly offended. She didn't say anything about me skipping over that last question, though. I think we both knew the answer.

"Is the boy coming?"

"He's in his thirties now, Grandmere. I'd hardly refer to him as a boy."

She merely sniffed. "Well, you never had much sense around him, did you?"

**A change of scenery coming shortly.**


	9. Way Feline

**To JessFreak: I find stories to be better when I don't know the ending. But I wouldn't ditch this one too quickly.**

**To the rest of you: Thanks for reading! Schwartzibrow seriously appreciates it.**

Ch. 9

Michael pointed out on the ride up that it's kind of ironic that I take my hoity-toity limo up for some rest and relaxation. I told Michael that he doesn't know what he's talking about. I take the limo EVERYWHERE. It's just a mode of transportation, not an indication of my personality. He just grunted and smirked. Attractive.

Olivia looked so adorable with her hair in little braids and her flip-flops dangling precariously from her toes. She wasn't exactly enamored of me, though. One might say she was even avoiding my eyes and glaring insolently out the window.

"Excited about the beach?" I said, making a stab at conversation.

Shrug.

"Have you ever been before?"

Slight shake of head.

I turned to Michael. "You never brought her to the beach? Didn't you guys ever go visit your grandparents or anything?"

His eyes neared balloon-size, as though I had suggested that we all go bungee-jumping off the Sears Tower. "Are you crazy? The ocean is dangerous. She could die, or worse, _drown_. The Moscovitz family isn't big on swimming anyhow. You know that."

Of course I knew that. Michael is way feline when it comes to water.

"So she can't swim?"

"Who would've taught her?"

I repressed the urge to laugh out loud. And a moment later I didn't even feel like a giggle. He's right. _I _should've been there to teach her.

"Wanna learn how to swim?" I said to Olivia. I've gotta stop summoning up so much enthusiasm when conversing with her. It's a wasted effort.

Michael's eyes practically bulged out of his head as he shook his head frantically. "NO! No way! Do you have a license to teach? And the ocean is way bigger than some kiddie pool. We should start with a kiddie pool. Or…or a bathtub."

He looked so horrified that I clammed up, not wanting to press the subject further. But I'll be damned if I don't follow up on the one parenting advantage I have over Michael.

I swung open the door to the little cottage, glancing nervously back at Michael and Olivia. Truth be told, I haven't actually been here. In fact, this is the first time I've had off from teas and state dinners and balls in about a year.

I'm not sure exactly when I got so busy with all of this princess jazz. Back in high school, I thought a lesson a day was a huge imposition on my social life. But as the years wore on, I definitely learned to appreciate the days when I could catch a movie with Michael in the evening, or take Rocky to the Central Park zoo on Saturday mornings.

If I was taking the increase in royal activities poorly, it was nothing compared to Michael. Of course, Michael's always been eons better than me at hiding his feelings. His nostrils wouldn't flare when he'd say, "Have fun in Genovia, Mia!" or "Your grandmother got me an etiquette book? How sweet. I'm sure it'll come in handy." Only days later I'd find Grandmere's handy manners guide propping up a leg of ourcoffee table. Handy indeed.

But his point of view became quite obvious when Michael started refusing to come to Genovia. "I've got work," he'd say, nary a glance my way as he changed the channel. "What's the point in using up my vacation days when I'm just gonna be hassled by your grandmother?"

So I left him behind. It seemed a fair deal for everyone. Grandmere was absolutely beside herself with delight, Michael was free to sit on the couch and watch Arrested Development reruns as often as he liked…and me? Well, to tell the truth, I was kind of relieved not to actually witness Michael's discomfort around my family.

"Here we are!" I said ecstatically, doing a quick look-over to make sure Rene hadn't left any thongs or condoms laying around from the last time he and his 'friends' came to 'relax.'

Michael actually smiled. A genuine one at that. "This is pretty cool. There's probably caviar in the fridge, though? Maids waiting in the corner of my room to creep the hell out of me?"

I kept my cool. Olivia mustn't see Mommy and Daddy bickering. "Oh, Michael!" I said loftily. "You're so very witty."

Almost immediately, his face scrunched up in confusion. "Uh…I try?"

Flashing my most princessy smile, I swept out of the room to go check on things like proper bedding and closet space. After the "stunning" realization that I had no clue what I was doing, I kind of tinkered around aimlessly in Michael's guest room for a minute or two.

Alright, time to bring my A-game. This little getaway is not about me taking Michael's bait and launching into hysterical tears every time he fancies a look my way. I've got to make that little girl love me. When it comes down to it, this is quite possibly the only royal task I've been given that will actually benefit my old friend. You know the one. Seen all over milk cartons a few years ago? Missed desperately by the friends and family who haven't completely denied her existence?

If you answered Mia Thermopolis, a brand-spanking-new air guitar is headed your way.

Continuing my exploration, I found the bathroom and peeked inside. But just as I was about to step back out, I did a double take. Wait a minute! There's not supposed to be another door in bathrooms!

Thinking it was some sort of feminine products closet, I was contemplating ways to make it invisible to Michael's naked eye (and his naked body invisible to my rather naked fantasies) when I actually opened it up.

Surprisingly enough, this was no Playtex cupboard. A whole other bedroom lay before me, about the same size and layout as Michael's. I'll bet they get along just perfectly. If Michael's room were to give this room any instructions, you can bet they'd be followed to the tee. And ten bucks says these instructions include hating the poor mother room that is only trying to do her best.

Hmmmm. I wonder who shall stay in here?

I'll just set up camp in the other room, far away from the tight-knit circle of People I've Ruthlessly Abandoned.

When I returned to the living room, Michael was fiddling with the entertainment system (artfully hidden in a cabinet). "Hey!" I said brightly, still in Superwoman mode. "I'm just gonna go unpack in my bedroom. You'll be staying there. And Olivia's right there."

Michael looked at me strangely. I thought he was still a bit lost on my mood swing, but then I followed his eyes around the room.

Kitchen. Michael's bedroom. Olivia's. My ro—

I whirled around, gaping at Michael. "Um, do you see another room anywhere?"

He took another glance about and shrugged. "Don't worry; I'll just share a room with Oliv—"

"No!" I interjected, eager to maintain my role as the ever-helpful hostess. "This is vacation. I'll sleep on the couch."

"You?" chuckled Michael. "That's a thousand times worse than a pea under a load of mattresses."

I'll admit I was a bit indignant. Like Michael would know shit about fairy tales if it weren't for me. This is the same man who once asked me "What the hell is a Rumpoo Schnitzel?" "I've slept on couches before!"

"You did a lot of things before."

Ignoring his attempted guilt trip, I lugged his suitcase into the guest room without another word. "I'm on the couch," I told him when I came back out.

"We'll take turns," suggested Michael. "Tomorrow night I'll take the couch."

"When do I get the couch?" Olivia piped up.

"You, babe, are about to find out what being a princess is all about," said Michael, kneeling down in front of her. "Go ahead. Order your mommy about. She's under strict instruction to follow your every whim."

"What's a whim?" she asked, wrinkling up her little button nose.

"It's whatever you want," said Michael, shooting a slightly sinister grin my way.

Olivia smiled too, looking way more adorable than evil. My traits shining through, obviously. "Can I have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?"

"I can do that!" I practically squealed in excitement.

Michael's laugh wasn't quite so cruel this time. "Can I have a BLT, Princess the Former?"

I squinted my eyes at him. "What do you think?"

"I think I'll join you in the kitchen to make sure you don't poison my tomato."

He followed me into the other room. "I stocked the fridge with those groceries you brought while you were doing room inspection."

"Oh, thanks."

"But remember, I'm not the one being controlled by a seven-year-old. Must be a big ego boost for you. Mind if I can take advantage of this too? Woman, make me a sandwich."

I turned around sharply, dropping my pleasant façade. "Look, Michael," I hissed. "I know you think I'm this huge bitch and I've got no sense of human decency and I dine with Lucifer once a week, but you might also recall that I don't really like getting completely attacked for something that wasn't all my fault."

"Of course it was your fault," he snapped. "You left. I stayed."

Seriously, though. I won't deny that it was a rather monumental event in both of our lives, but is he really going to hold to this that much longer? Especially tainted with the ridiculous idea that he was some freaking martyr throughout the whole ordeal! Saint Michael, my ass.

"I _had _to go. We weren't in love any more. It had died and I had better things to do than wait for the spark to come back."

That was the godawful truth. Tell me, because I'm dying to know, how am I supposed to handle a prince consort who absolutely refuses to participate in anything princely? He can't exactly reign at my side if he won't even acknowledge that I've got a scepter.

"You don't even know what you're talking about," said Michael coldly. "Forget about the sandwich."

And with that, he stormed out.

**Your thoughts are easily sent my way by the click of a button. Or two.**


	10. Il Vous Aime Toujours

**Elmo: Mia doesn't bring up Michael cheating on her because they've both realized that their breakup was really the result of the fact that Michael would rather live the normal life in New York with their baby and Mia has an obligation to rule. Also, Mia's main focus isn't on hurting Michael, but getting closer to their daughter. She needs his support.**

**Liss: The bathroom-bedroom thing can be explained easily. Mia was checking out the house, walked through a bedroom to the bathroom and found another bedroom on the other side. She realized that it'd be much more convenient to put Michael and Olivia in these rooms because neither one of them wants much contact with her anyhow. But soon afterwards she discovers that there's no other bedroom for her to sleep in.**

Ch. 10

Michael and Olivia stayed holed up in Michael's room until Sebastiano showed up. I think they were plotting to murder me or something. I wouldn't put it past them right now.

I kicked off my heels and flopped onto the couch, closing my eyes but not expecting any rest. Lars would blow a gasket if he knew I was catching a few winks with mortal enemies not fifty feet away.

You'd think I had set this all up as a nice getaway for Michael and Olivia. They can hang out all they want back in New York! _I'm _the one who's supposed to be getting to know her.

But when Sebastiano and Dani, his supermodel wife, finally turned up with their three kids, he decided to grace me with his presence in the kitchen.

"Sebastiano," Michael said formally, extending his hand.

"Michael...It's been a long time. This is my wife, Dani."

I feel awful admitting this, but I had been completely blown away whenever Sebastiano had announced his impending nuptials with a woman who'd had her face plastered all over the likes of Vogue and Cosmopolitan. Then again, Sebastiano was always a big fan of flawless bone structure.

Michael shook her hand too and introduced Olivia to them.

"So this is my mysterious cousin? I've been waiting a long time to meet you," Sebastiano said, kneeling down to Olivia's height. "And how are you, little lady?"

I expected her to shy away and hide behind daddy's legs, but she looked up at me before giggling and throwing her arms around Sebastiano's broad shoulders.

My God, she's doing this just to spite me. I know she is.

I frowned at the blatant show of affection and diverted my eyes, catching sight of Michael grinning down at his daughter.

They organized this together!

"Come on," I said quickly. "Let's hit the beach. Do you kids want to go swimming?"

Michael frowned at me. But I don't care. I'm going to teach Olivia how to swim, and he can't stop me! It'll be something for us to bond over.

"No, I want to build a sandcastle," Olivia said.

"Yeah!" Francis, Jake and Polly agreed.

"Fine then," I said, gritting my teeth. "We'll build castles then."

-

I gave up trying to 'bond' with Olivia when I was covered (accidentally, of course) with sand six times.

I sat up on the beach with Sebastiano and Dani while Michael stayed to oversee the building. I noticed that he hadn't been covered in sand at all yet.

"So how's things going, Mia?" Dani asked, sitting up from her sun-baking position. "Isn't motherhood great?"

Yeah, it's peachy.

"I don't think she likes me," I admitted softly, thought I hadn't been planning on saying it out loud to anyone. "She won't talk to me, and when she does it's only to say she hates me, doesn't want to be a princess, and wants to go home."

"Well she IS her mother's daughter," Sebastiano pointed out, laughing gently. His English had improved dramatically when he started working out of L.A.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that it sounds exactly like the reaction you would have if you were in her shoes."

"I WAS in her shoes, remember?"

"Yeah, but your dad wasn't just a stranger to you. You knew him; you just didn't know what he did for a living. This is totally different for her, because she doesn't feel like you are her mother, so she doesn't feel like she has to like you."

I nodded. "So what do I do?"

It's funny, because usually Sebastiano and I have giant communication barriers. I speak better English, and he speaks better French. But right now, I'm understanding everything he's saying, and it's making sense.

"You convince her to like you. You don't give her a reason to hate you and she won't be able to. Basically, you just be the best darn mother a seven year old can have."

"It's easier said than done when there's a protective father whispering horrible things about me in her ears every five seconds."

Sebastiano's eyes drifted to where Michael was sitting, now half buried in sand. The kids had abandoned the castle idea, and are now making a castle out of him.

"I don't think Michael will be a problem."

"How so? He HATES me."

"He's still hurting, Mia. He feels like you chose Genovia over him, and that's a blow to the ego. And you know, you DID kind of choose Genovia over him."

"He's right, Mia," Dani piped up. "If Sebastiano had chosen Genovia over me, especially if we'd already had a child, I wouldn't be so forgiving either."

I nodded, looking down at my sand-covered hands.

"I guess I've just got to try harder..." I said.

"And besides," Sebastiano added, dropping his voice. "Il vous aime toujours."

"What?" I asked, not having heard well enough to translate into English.

He looked knowingly at me. "I think you heard me, I just don't think you wanted to hear."

What is he talking about? If he's offering advice, I'm listening! I need all the help I can get with this problem child!

-

While everyone was still at the beach, I called the castle and asked one of the maids to go shopping for me. I needed ingredients for the best kid's dinner I can make. And given my limited skills in the kitchen, it'll have to be ready-made microwave mac and cheese.

Hey, it's better than toast, isn't it?

Michael and Olivia walked in the door just as I was setting the table.

"Mmm," Michael said, bringing a smile to my face. "What's that smell?"

"That," I said proudly. "is dinner. I made it myself."

He raised his eyebrows at me while Olivia looked anything but impressed. Obviously Michael never told her about my past cooking experiences, and how as a princess I don't have to cook for myself.

Back when we lived together, Michael and I usually went the take-out route. But on evenings where we didn't feel like going out (or weren't dressed appropriately enough to greet a delivery boy), Michael would make me dinner. God, can that man toss a salad.

"Really? What is it?"

"Do you like mac and cheese?" I asked Olivia, bending down so we were at eye level.

"I like the way daddy makes mac and cheese," she said snottily.

"Well, you'll have to try mine. It'll be yummy, I promise."

She didn't reply. She just motioned for Michael to bend down so she could whisper in his ear.

He stood back up and chuckled. "How about we just try this first, kiddo. Then we'll see about a sandwich later."

I took a deep breath. "Fine, I'll go serve it up."

I got to the microwave and opened it, letting out a huge gust of steam as I did so. The warm smell of cheesy mac now smelled over cooked. Great.

Hoping to be able to salvage it, I took the serving spoon and dug in, dishing it out into three bowls.

"It's pasty," was the first thing Olivia said after trying a spoonful. "Daddy's is never this pasty. I don't like it."

Michael smiled apologetically at me. "I'm sure it's not that bad, Olivia. I mean, it's not as if it's one of those yucky packet mixes. Mia made it from scratch, right, Mia?"

Does opening the box and mixing it up count as 'from scratch'?

"Sure," I gulped, talking a bite. She's right, it IS pasty. And dry. And...disgusting.

I watched as Michael tried some. He chewed for longer than usual, and then washed it down with his glass of water. "Mmm," he said, totally lying. "It's great, Mia. Really."

Olivia made a disgusted face. "No, it's not! It's disgusting! She can't even cook, how can she be my mommy?"

I stood up quickly, causing my chair to fall to the ground behind me. "Fine. Make yourself a sandwich then. I'm going to bed."

I turned around to see that I didn't even have a bed, just the small, uncomfortable couch sitting in the living room, just meters from the kitchen table.

Damn.

Acting as if this didn't bother me, I picked up my pajamas and headed for the bathroom to change.

**Review!**

**I'm going on vacation tomorrow evening, but I might update before I leave if there are a great deal of reviews to appease me. I know what you're thinking, Kristin--and yes, I am a review whore.**


	11. Sans the Cardigan

**So I spent one last night in town, and since you guys were so great with the reviews, here's your chapter! I'll be back Thursday night. **

Ch. 11

Almost as soon as the bathroom door clicked shut, I dropped my bright smile, feeling the hot tears streak down my face.

I stared at my increasingly unattractive reflection and tried to figure out where I'd gone wrong. For the past few years, things have been pretty all right. Nothing special, but nothing extremely horrific. I thought I was over my teenage screw-up days, where every little incident inspired pages and pages of frantic scribbling.

But ever since I got back in touch with Michael, everything has just been one gigantic trauma after another.

I don't know what it is about that skinny Jewish boy that transforms me into such a complete mess. It wasn't so much of a problem when we weredating, because he was using his powers for good, not evil. Though I don't think convincing me to shed my clothes with him in the bathroom of my 17th birthday ball is an entirely sinless action.

Sure, I did some mortifying things with Michael while we were together, but I didn't react the way I normally would've because I had him on my side. That just made everything…better. Sweeter, really.

Leaving Michael was definitely the hardest thing I've ever done. They say giving birth is painful? Obviously not many people have ever bid farewell to those moist eyes and beautifully chapped lips.

But once I got to Genovia…once there was no one propping me up and 'kissing it better,' I became way stronger. Emotionally, at least. The lack of Michael proved good! I didn't need him and I didn't need normalcy…I could just assume the role of crown princess all by myself.

At least that's what I thought until it all came back to bite me in the ass.

Now I'm stuck feeling awful because I left and awful because they think I didn't care and really, really awful because now _they _don't care.

Is there any difference between independence and loneliness?

I peeled off my tank top slowly, trying and failing to extinguish the well of tears pouring out of my eyes.

I just…I thought I had everything figured out and in its place. I don't _need _this. It's not that I don't love Olivia and…and Olivia. I just can't grasp the fact that she doesn't love me. I loved my mother! And I hardly ever saw my dad, but I loved him just as much.

As I undid the knot of my bikini, I realized Sebastiano was fully right. Except for the part about Olivia growing to love me. That's obviously not going to happen. I mean, if someone just leaped into my life, insisting that I move to another country and rule over fifty thousand strangers, I wouldn't exactly rush into their arms either.

I dragged my fingers along under my eyes, wiping away the tears. Okay, so I'm not going to beg for Olivia's function any more. I'll just…I'll try and be harmless. Because I swear I can't take any more—

AUGHHHHHHHHHHH!

Michael stood in the open doorway, gaping at me. I was most likely reciprocating the look, though Michael wasn't the shirtless one.

"I was gonna…I was coming to see if you were all right."

I hugged myself tightly, shielding my body from his wide eyes. Not that he hasn't seen anything…he just doesn't get that privilege any more.

"Of course I'm all right," I snapped. "Why wouldn't I be all right?"

"Well, you look fine _now_," said Michael tiredly, though his eyes gave the words another meaning.

"Just…leave!" I squeaked, taking a few steps back.

He composed himself, turned eighteen shades of red, and promptly left.

Ugh, I was so right about Michael being the instigator of every horrendous event in my life. Or at least he fuels the awfulness.

Later that night, I shifted uncomfortably on the couch, cursing myself for ever giving up the bedroom to Michael. He doesn't deserve the bed, especially after the hell he gave me today. And you know what he's probably doing in that nice, comfortable bed? Getting off to the image of a bare-chested Princess Amelia in the bathroom.

I'm being ridiculous. There is _nothing _about me that Michael finds attractive. Isn't that weird? My gawky, flat-chested, huge-footed, Amazonian teenage girl style made him totally hot and bothered.

And now? Nada. Michael probably just sits at home all day and eats paste and watches Zoboomafoo with Olivia. Does he even have a job? Go out on dates?

HOLY SHIT! Of course he dates! He's probably got a different lady over at the apartment every night. Or, even worse, a serious girlfriend! And Olivia loves her and wants Cynthia or Tiffany or whoever to be her new mommy. And they'll all come to my funeral—one big, happy family—and just laugh their asses off. Or, as Michael would say, "hineys."

Speaking of which, Mr. Rogers himself just traipsed out into the darkened living room, sans the cardigan. Sans any sort of shirt at all. Still doesn't make up for earlier.

Okay…maybe a little.

"You awake?" he whispered, perching on the edge of the coffee table.

"No," I said insolently—and stupidly.

"Mia, I wanna talk." He drummed his fingers along the wooden surface. "Are you all right? Earlier, when…well, when I…uh…_happened _upon you in the bathroom, I only came 'cuz…'cuz I heard you crying."

How is it that he can be the Anti-Christ one moment and all sweetness and kindness the next?

"I don't want to talk," I said coldly, rolling over to where my back was facing him.

"We _need _to talk," insisted Michael. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I don't think this is working out."

I elected to play dumb. "What do you mean?"

"She's not happy. She's not going to adjust to this, Mia. It was different for you. You were older. So…I guess we can try again lat—"

"NO!" I cried, whirling my head around so fast that I pulled a muscle. "No," I said more quietly, massaging my neck. "That's not how it goes, Michael. This is it. I've told her and now she's going to come back to Genovia and she's going to learn how to be a princess. I mean, it's not going to be long before this leaks to the press. It's a miracle they never found out about Olivia anyway."

"_You _left," pointed out Michael for the gazillionth time. "You have no say-so over what she does. You gave up. I stayed. I took care of Olivia. She's _not _your daughter."

I stiffened, chewing furiously on my lip. What could I say to that? He's got an argument against his cheating. How can I explain my departure? Especially without telling him that I don't recall ever falling out of love with him. "Biologically…she is. And…and that's what matters."

"No, it doesn't. What's wrong with you, Mia? You would've never been spewing this shit when I knew you."

"So you don't know me now?"

"We're briefly acquainted," he smirked. "Or rather, I became acquainted with your back when you walked out."

"Don't act like you're so fucking innocent," I snapped. All gloves are off. "No matter what you think I did or said or felt…I would've never ever cheated on you. So maybe I'm the one with a sense of decency."

Instead of arguing back, as he was wont to do lately, he simply hung his head.

"There are _rules_," I tried to explain. "What else can I do, Michael? You know I would've never _inconvenienced _you like this if I didn't have to."

He was the one whispering now. "I know."

An awkward silence fell over the room for a few seconds before Michael cleared his throat. "Look, what do you want me to do? I'm not forcing her into anything she doesn't want. You've seen her. She hates this whole idea."

"That's because she's doing what you tell her! First she grew up not knowing me and now she's being taught to despise every fiber of my being? Christ, Michael, let her make her own decisions. I don't think letting her get to know her own mother would be the worst parenting choice you could make."

"I can't help it if she looks up to me," he said haughtily. "I raised her. We have a lot of the same opinions."

I quickly changed strategies. "Michael, there's no way out of this. Opinions or not, she's going to be the princess of Genovia. I'm going to be in her life. It might be the teensiest bit easier for her if you didn't pass on your hatred for me to her. Just…just try and help me out a bit?"

Michael looked at me with something like pity. "I can try, I guess."

He didn't used to have to try.

**Hopefully I'll have some nice reviews when I get back. Toss in a few mean ones if you must.**


	12. Oh, No! This Is Not for Me

**Okay, so I combined two chapters so you guys would have more to read like you keep asking for. Thanks to those who wished me well on my vacation. I'm back early because we were only staying, like, half an hour from where I live and I had work today anyhow. Plus, you can only take so much _family _time before retching becomes the soundtrack of your days.**

**To Nicole, who asked nicely.**

Ch. 12

The next morning I woke up to see Olivia standing before me, clutching onto her one-eyed, ratty teddy bear as if her life depended on it. A clear indication of how much she's grown to love and trust me.

"Hey," I said gently. She can't be trying to slumber me if she knows I'm awake, right?

"Daddy says you're taking us to the zoo today. Is that true?"

I glanced over to the doorway to Michael's room; he was standing there nodding vehemently at me.

"Sure, honey. Would you like that?"

"I like the zoo," she said, shuffling the teddy from hand to hand. "Daddy takes me to the Central Park zoo all the time."

Something we have in common, possibly?

No wait, let me rephrase that: SOMETHING WE HAVE IN COMMON!

"Really? I used to like the Central Park zoo. My favorites were the polar bears and the penguins."

"I love the penguins!" she exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of her little feet. "Do you think they'll be penguins at this zoo?"

"You know what," I said, sitting up on the couch. "I'm actually friends with one of the zoo keepers; maybe, if you're lucky, you'll be able to hold a penguin."

"Really?" she squeaked, sounding exactly like me, but looking instead like her father with that bight smile on her face. I never noticed that she had Michael's smile until now. Probably because she hasn't exactly been offering up many smiles around me since the first time I met her.

"I'll see what I can do," I told her. "Would you like that?"

She nodded, still grinning. Then she seemed to remember that she's supposed to hate me and frowned. "But it doesn't mean I want you to be my mommy," she whispered, before running off.

Hey, I can't win 'em all.

- - -

Michael and I walked side by side into the zoo a few hours later. Olivia was skipping a few feet ahead of us. She still carried the teddy in her little hand.

"It sounded like you'd made some progress this morning," Michael said, a small smile creeping onto his lips.

"Yeah, I think I did...Thank you."

"For what?" he asked, trying his best to sound as if he hadn't had anything to do with my break through.

"You know what for," I said, playfully poking him in the ribs. "You knew the one thing we had in common was the zoo, and you helped me out. I appreciate it."

"It's not the only thing you have in common, you know," he said, kicking a fallen candy wrapper with the toe of his mandal.

"Yeah," I agreed. "I did notice she inherited my stubbornness."

"Not just that," Michael said, smiling again. "But I guess you'll find out what all in due time. So are you really friends with the zoo keeper here?"

"No," I admitted. "But I'm Princess Amelia, I can pull some strings. Being a princess isn't ALWAYS a burden."

He scoffed, as if he didn't believe me.

And why should he?

- - -

I watched the smile on Olivia's face grow as Harry, the zoo keeper I'd talked into giving us VIP treatment, handed her the baby penguin.

"Look at him, daddy!" she said, unable to control her delight. "He's so tiny!"

"Yeah, you be careful with him."

"I will," she replied seriously, clutching the little animal to her chest carefully.

"Thank you," I said to Harry when he stepped away from Olivia. "This means the world to her. And to me. So thank you."

"Your Highness, it is my pleasure. Really. You are more than welcome."

"Please," I told him. "Call me Mia."

He nodded and walked away to find the next penguin for Olivia to hold.

"You don't like your people being formal around you?" Michael asked, one of his eyebrows cocked.

"At a time like this, of course not. I prefer to be treated like a normal person."

"Ah," he said knowingly. "But that's a double edged sword, isn't it? Because a normal person wouldn't be allowed to hold the animals, would they?"

He had me there.

"Well...no. But..." Why does he have to DO this? Can't we spend at least five minutes in each other's company without hurting feelings or bringing up the past? It's like that movie _Blast from the Past_, except Michael and I have been the ones in the bomb shelter.

Other people would be able to move on. Other people could just look fondly back on the GOOD parts of the relationship and forget about the meaningless crap that can't really be changed now.

But like Michael said, I'm not normal. And I so wouldn't characterize him like that either.

"But...?"

"But nothing," I snapped. "My life isn't all peaches and cream, Michael. I've had to make sacrifices for my crown. And did I like doing them? No. But I did them. I had to. So don't stand there and tell me I can't have a normal life as well as my royal one. You have no right anymore."

"No right to point things out to you?" he said, looking rather bemused. "That's not a right, Mia. It's a fact of life. And all I'm saying is that you chose the royal life first and foremost, and you can't just chop and change the circumstances to suit you." He started to walk away, grumbling under his breath as he did so. "Oh!" he said, turning on his heel to glare at me again. "and the tide doesn't come in when you want it to, and life doesn't run around your schedule."

Um, hello, tired cliché.

I lowered my voice, taking a nervous glance over at Olivia. "Why can't you just _drop _this? I'm fully aware that we're over, Michael. I know _why _we're over. Stop beating a dead horse."

He turned sharply and left through the pen door. I was left alone with Olivia, who was looking up at me strangely.

"Did you upset my dad?" she asked accusingly.

"Maybe," I sniffed. But he upset me too.

She looked down at the penguin, probably trying to decide where her loyalties lied. To follow her father and ignore the Ice Queen who hurt his feelings, or stay and play with the penguin said Ice Queen provided.

After a minute of what was painful decision making time, she held the penguin up and said, "I think I'm going to go find Daddy."

"But Harry was going to show you the monkey's next!" I said, pulling the bribery card out. The last one I have, it seems.

She looked torn again. "I want my daddy," she finally said, setting the penguin down and running for the door.

Damn. Just when I thought I was making real progress. I just had to go and open my mouth and stuff it all up, didn't I?

Note to self: Take foot out of mouth before talking to either Michael or Olivia next time.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

I met up with Michael and Olivia by the car. "I think we're ready to go," I said coolly to Lars, though he could tell by my expression that things were not cool.

Okay, I try. Lord _knows _I try. And yet, Michael and I always end up bickering like children whenever any sort of progress is made towards me actually getting along with my daughter.

Of course, it's all his fault. Anyone can see that I'm putting in all the effort. Every now and then, Michael deigns me worthy of his kindness, but it's almost immediately replaced by some bitchy comment or an underhanded trick to pull Olivia away from me.

I just know if it weren't for Michael's little grudge, Olivia and I would be bonding within seconds. We're too much alike not to get along—without a third-party interference.

The car ride home was by no means enjoyable, especially since Michael's stony silence had infected the whole group.

My fingers drummed idly across the seat as I mulled over the current disaster I'd roped myself into. None of this would've ever happened if…well, I can't just prevent cancer…and it's not _my _fault that the stupid condom didn't work…AHA!

I should have just never succumbed to the wiles of Mr. Michael Moscovitz!

Which is actually a great deal easier said than done.

Except nowadays. If I were dating present-day-Michael, I could totally become a nun like that. He's gone into full-on-Daddy mode, in a non-porno sort of way. And I'm telling you, if Ward Cleaver over there laid a finger on me, I would not be turned on…_at all_. I don't even think about ripping off that stupid polo of his and reclaiming the glory days on the beach cottage couch.

Lack of hotness or not, the fact remains that Michael and I need some sort of stability in our relationship if I'm ever going to succeed in winning over Olivia. How will she ever become princess and live in the palace in Genovia if she can't summon up some sort of kind feeling for me?

The limo pulled up in front of the beach cottage. The second the engine shut off, Olivia scrambled out the door to where Dani was blowing bubbles with the kids on her front porch.

Just fantastic. She wants to hang out with _someone else's _mom.

Instead of dwelling on this most recent disappointment, I followed Michael into the house. "Can we talk?" I asked once we reached the kitchen, finally letting the desperation seep into my tone.

"Mmm," was Michael's response.

I took this to be affirmative and plunged ahead. "I…I wanna apologize."

"Oh?" he said airily. "What for?"

Okay, like I really had time for his mind games. Grandmere totally expects some sort of progress on this trip. I can't just return to the castle in the same position I was before I cancelled all my appointments and wasted everybody's time. "Michael, you hate me. And…and I think I know why. And I know I can't change what I did. I don't see how I could have done differently even. But can't we just move on? I'm sorry I hurt your feelings and I'm sorry I wasn't there and I'm sorry things had to go that way. Could you just forgive me? If not for the sake of moving on, then think about Olivia."

I know I had preached to him before about the importance of us getting along for our child's sake, but this was my first apology. And really, I did mean every bit of it. It's not like Michael didn't hurt me, though.

He turned his head toward me slightly. "You really mean that?"

"I do," I nodded meekly, "We can't just go on bitching at one another for all time. It'd be stupid not to establish some sort of friendship."

"Friends?" echoed Michael, looking a bit skeptical. "I dunno…"

I held out my hand to him, pleading with my eyes. "Just…just sort-of friends. You don't even have to like me. Just try and get along with me. For now. You can feel however you want about me on your own time."

He drew back the hand that had been inching towards mine. "Oh, so I'm just some sort of inconvenience?"

"I didn't say—"

But he stuck his hand in mine, shaking it firmly. "I'm okay with being a bother. I'm not the one who matters here."

"Of course not," I said quickly, tearing my eyes away from his. I didn't even notice I'd been staring into them. "It's Olivia."

"Olivia!" said Michael cheerfully as the girl herself bounded into the room.

"Daddy!" she said gleefully. "I blew this bubble, but there were, like, three of them, and they were all joined as one and it was HUGE. You should've seen it! Come on and blow bubbles with us!"

"I smell like baboon," he groaned, tousling her messy ponytail. "I'm gonna go shower. Why doesn't Mia join you? She knows how to blow."

"Some cool bubbles," I finished, glaring at Michael's smirk.

"Exactly what I meant," said Michael, walking out of the room.

So maybe he's still a bit sadistic when he's on my side. But it's better than nothing.

**I've noticed that the number of readers surpasses the number of reviewers by a great deal. If you're reading this--REVIEW! I'm still editing this story and if I know what you want, I'lldo my best to give that to you(besides, like, gold or Brian Bell or Jenny Lewis' voice--I'm working on those for myself.)**


	13. Oddly Sinister Bum

**Aw, thank y'all so much for the reviews. Truly a surprise. To show my gratitude, I added a lot to this chapter that didn't originally exist when Schwartzibrow first wrote out the story. Hope you enjoy.**

**And Jacki, I think I'd be willing to grant you Graham Coxon if you update your story.**

Ch. 13

Michael's support is definitely a big boost in my ratings, but that doesn't mean Olivia is still totally psyched about becoming the next…well, me.

I can't just rely on her father's support for everything. I mean, what's gonna happen whenever he has to go back to New York? Families can't exactly operate whenever one person sways their vote in everything. Well, they can't operate _happily_.

Whoa. Did I just refer to them as my family? Not my heir and the unwelcome slob? My illegitimate daughter and her good-for-nothing guardian? Ungrateful Brat and Oddly Sinister Bum?

In order to keep up this tightness, I can't just rest on my laurels. Or rather, Michael's uncharacteristic (at least, uncharacteristic to Michael: The Remix) kindness.

I need to pull something fantastic out of Mia's ole bag of tricks.

I could…introduce her to the wonderful world of Baywatch! Or play NSYNC's epic sophomore effort, the famed "No Strings Attached" in its entirety. If push comes to shove, I might even donate my Buffy figurines to the cause.

"Let me get this straight," said Michael pensively. "You want to expose our daughter to softcore porn, satanic wailing, and vampires? Sounds awesome."

So on to Plan B! Mind you, this one's top-secret so Michael can't use a well-placed sarcastic comment to throw me off the scent of good parenting.

I'm on to something. There's no way I'm quitting now.

- - -

It took a lot of coaxing the next morning to get me out of bed and into the shower. This is what parents do, I told myself. We forsake our own drooping eyelids to conform to the whims of our precious gifts from God.

Not that Olivia has exactly expressed a desire for the gift I'm preparing, but it's definitely useful! She'll love it. I just know she will.

But in order to really pull this off, I've got to resort to trickery and deceit, which aren't exactly skills I want to pass on to her.

"I'm awake," I whispered, pulling my damp hair into a ponytail as I stole quietly into the living room. Michael was stretched out on the couch, his mouth wide open as his right hand skimmed the floor.

My cell phone had died the night before, so I conducted a search for the house phone. You'd think it would be resting on the receiver, but things just don't go that way for me.

And then I spotted it. "Aha!" I muttered, tiptoeing towards Michael. The phone was wedged between the small of this back and the couch cushions.

Okay, I am very well aware that I have never been especially known for my grace and poise, but please…_please _let his be an exception. I leaned over his snoozing form, not even daring to breathe. But just as I was about to pluck the phone out, Michael spoke. "Flurger Mia steeker."

Mia?

"Shirt stowitz off tralep baby."

I would KILL to be inside Michael Moscovitz's head right now.

His eyes fluttered open, and he squinted up at me. "Mia?"

"Uh huh?" I replied, my voice unnaturally high.

"Hi," he said, smiling up at me.

I bit back a smile. "Um…hi. I've gotta go."

"Where?"

"It's not important."

This seemed to satisfy him. For the most part. Just as I reached for the phone again, Michael latched onto my wrist. "No kiss?" he mumbled.

"Oh!" I fumbled around for some sort of response to that. But what exactly are you supposed to do when your ex-boyfriend requests a kiss in his sleep-induced haze?

If you're me, you peck him on the cheek and fly out the door, just barely snatching the phone up as you do.

He's going to wake up. He's going to remember that I kissed him. And he's going to be REALLY FREAKED OUT.

He won't want to help me any more! I'll just be that creep who's warm for his form! The psycho with an ulterior motive!

With trembling fingers, I dialed Lars' cell phone number. A little underhanded shopping is always good to calm the nerves.

- - -

I had just about forgotten my anxiety when I approached the house again, and it all flooded back to me. Especially whenever I saw who was waiting just inside the screen door.

"There you are!" said Michael, throwing his free hand up in the air. The other was clutching a steaming cup of coffee. "You scared the hell out of me!"

That's how far apart we've grown? Any contact with my lips has become a phobia of his!

"Oh, uh…I'm really, _really _sorry about that. I really don't know what came over me. It just…well, you…"

He glowered up at me. "That's no excuse for not leaving a note. I had no idea where you were! I thought that you had gone back to Genovia and I'd just get some call later on today filling me in. But ya know, I'm not going to be jerked around like this. I didn't come out to Genovia for you to flit around and go wherever you want and not tell me, because maybe some people are really worried that you're going to leave. Maybe some of us have reason to worry about that."

The rant dwindled off after this, and he flopped into a chair at the kitchen table, still glowering.

"That's why you're mad?" I asked carefully. "Because I didn't leave a note?"

He traced the rim of his mug with a pale finger. "I might've gone a little overboard."

Who cares? I was just relieved that he didn't remember the peck! "No, you're right. I shouldn't have just gone off like that. Next time, I will definitely let you know where I'm going."

Without pressing my lips to any part of your body in the process.

- - -

Once Michael chilled out, he busied himself in the kitchen cooking breakfast. I, on the other hand, went to go surprise my daughter with Phase 1.

"Wake up, Liv," I said, shaking her gently. "I got something for you!"

She, like Michael, is most definitely not a morning person. "Whaaaaaaaaat?" she drawled, shielding her eyes against the light I'd flicked on.

I could barely contain my excitement. "I think you'll like this."

And with that I drew a swimsuit out of my shopping bag.

- - -

I knew once Olivia warmed up to the idea, she'd totally be open to becoming one with the water. "But for now," I explained to her as we stood on the shore. "Let's just keep this our little secret. We'll surprise your dad with how good you've become! It'll be so cool."

"He doesn't like swimming, though," she said slowly, looking out into the sparkling water with a wistful expression.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want _you _to learn. Parenting is all about wanting to give your kid what you can't have. And you, Liv, have got WAY more courage than your dad, which is why he wants you to tackle those waves."

Her face split into a wide grin. "Okay!"

I took her hand, leading her out into the water. "See?" I said, checking to make sure she wasn't freaking out yet. But she seemed to like splashing around in the shallows.

So we went on like that, just walking further and further out. Taking our time, though. I didn't want to scare her before we even got to the hard part.

Before I even got to flex my swimming skills, though, trouble struck.

In the form of a 6'2" blur with a frilly apron.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? THAT'S THE OCEAN, MIA. YOU CAN'T JUST TAKE HER OUT INTO THE OCEAN! SHE DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO SWIM! ARE YOU INSANE? GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!"

"It's okay, Dad!" Olivia called back, not looking fazed by her father's hissy fit in the least. "Mia's teaching me how to swim."

"It's _not_ okay!" he retorted, now standing at the edge of the water. "Come back in this instant."

I looked at Michael, white-faced and shaking, standing ankle-deep in the water and glaring at us. My plan wasn't to _upset _him. Just to get an edge over him with Olivia! I wanted _one _thing that he hadn't helped along or rigged for me.

"I could teach you too!" I found myself calling before I even knew what I was doing.

He didn't say anything for a second. "Really?"

"Of course," I asserted, pleased that he hadn't immediately started questioning my qualifications. "Hop on in."

- - -

I spent the better part of the day helping a boxer-clad Michael float. "You're sure you've got me?" he kept repeating. It's disconcerting enough to be holding your ex-boyfriend without him constantly second-guessing you.

Olivia stood in water up to her waist, giggling at us. "Daddy, you must be fat!" she giggled as once again Michael sunk without my support.

"It's impossible!" he grumbled. "Some people just _aren't _meant to swim."

Considering he had refused to allow Olivia to continue her lessons until he had mastered it himself, I wasn't about to let him drop it now.

"Just _relax_," I told him as he leaned back again. With one arm, I held his legs while the other supported his back. We've been practicing with him "floating" with me as a crutch, just to get him used to the feel of it. But any time Michael tries it alone, it's impossible.

"How can I relax when I'm seconds from death?"

"I've got you, all right? Do you really think I'd just let you drown, Michael?"

He met my eyes and I almost forgot to hold on to him. "You're right. I trust you."

For a second, the absurdity of me cradling a man in his thirties vanished, and I was just left with those words.

He trusts me…with his _life_. With his _daughter's _life.

As I mulled over this, Michael kicked off the bottom again, letting his body ease back until he was practically parallel with the ground below. "Am I doing it?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"You are!" I squealed.

"I am?" he practically shouted, losing his balance in the process and choking on a mouthful of saltwater. "I can swim?"

Through my giggles, I explained that floating on your back is hardly the equivalent to being a full-fledged swimmer.

"You at least need the doggy paddle. But that can wait for another day."

"Why not now?"

I looked back to the shore where Olivia was sitting on the sand with Sebastiano's daughter Polly.

"I guess a little more practice never hurt anybody."

"This is your fault," laughed Michael. "You're addicting. With the lessons and stuff. You'd make a good teacher, if you weren't…well, a princess."

"I'm not _just _a princess."

He pushed wet strands of hair out of his eyes. "Not even close."

- - -

Grandmere called me at the beach house a few days later to see how things were going. And also to see if she should be preparing for 'Little Princess Lessons' any time soon.

After making sure the bathroom door was locked properly, I replied. "I'm still trying to get her used to the idea of being my daughter, Grandmere. I haven't even touched on the issue of her being a princess too in days. I don't want to rush her."

"Time is of the essence, Amelia," she said, sounding gruff.

"Why? Dad's still on the throne, and then it's MY turn. She won't have to assume the throne for years and years. Why can't you just let it go for a little while? Let her get used to it all."

She sighed down the phone and I sensed a lecture coming on. "_Because_, Amelia, she's still young. There's still hope for her being a great leader while she can learn from such a young age."

"And are you saying that I won't be a great leader?" I bit back nasty comments. Getting into a fight with Grandmere never solves any problems.

"All I'm saying is that is you'd known about your true path earlier, maybe we wouldn't be in the situation we are now. This way Olivia can find a suitable Prince Consort and have legitimate children. Hopefully the Renaldo line of illegitimate children will end with her." 

"Whatever. I'm not going to rush her."

I hung up without another word and walked back into the kitchen where Michael and Olivia had been teaching me to bake cookies.

"You missed it, Mia!" Olivia cried when I walked back in the room. "Daddy dropped the bowl of mixture and got it all over his shirt!" Her little laughter was infectious. I was joining in before I even looked across at Michael, who was covered in white flour.

I stepped forwards to help him clean up. "At least you hadn't added the eggs yet," I said, brushing him down. "Because THAT would have been a mess. I know from experience."

"Yeah," Olivia agreed. "And at least he didn't drop the choc chips!" 

"Oh no," I said, pretending to sound relieved. "That would have been the end of the cookies. Who wants to eat cookies without choc chips in them?"

"Not me," she said softly, shaking her head and going back to her job of whisking the eggs.

With Michael's help, Olivia has come out of her shell quite a bit in the past few days. We're not quite at the stage where she's calling me 'Mommy' and we're braiding each other hair, but then again, I don't think we'll ever get to that stage. I'm not really one for braiding. 

"I'm just going to go change shirts," Michael announced, after deciding that his shirt was no longer salvageable.

I started weighing out more flour when he walked back in the room shirtless. Butterflies raced through my stomach as I thought back to the days Michael used to walk around his parents apartment shirtless. 

"Uh, it seems I don't have any more clean shirts," he said, looking a little embarrassed.

"Sorry," I told him. "Someone was supposed to come for our laundry today, but I guess they've forgotten about it. Maybe I can find something for you."

"You can wear one of my shirts, daddy," Olivia kindly offered, her face showing she was completely sincere.

Michael smirked at me. "Thanks, sweetie. But I don't think any of your pretty tops will fit daddy. But maybe Mia has something I can wear. Something pink and strappy, I think."

"I'm sure I can find something like that," I said, grinning at Olivia. "It'd fit you perfectly."

We walked into the bedroom where my suitcase lay open by the door. We were still taking it in turns to share the bed, and tonight it was my turn.

"Here," I said, throwing my pink boob tube at him. "At your request." 

He looked at me strangely for a second, then thanked me and threw it on quicker than I could grab it back.

"How does this look, Liv?" he asked, walking back into the kitchen and tying the bow at the front. "Does it look pretty?" 

Olivia nodded, putting down the handful of choc chips she'd been sneaking in our absence. "Very pretty."

"Come on, Michael," I said after a second. It WAS kinda funny. "You're gonna stretch it out. I'm sure I've got something more manly for you to wear."

"But I like this one," he said, seductively fingering the front of his chest. "And Olivia says it looks good. I think I'm going to keep it on."

"Then at least wear an apron over it," I told him, throwing a novelty apron at him. "I don't want to get it dirty."

"Okay," he agreed, tying the apron around his back.

As soon as I caught sight of what was on the apron, I couldn't help but laugh out loud. It was a picture of a female wearing a bikini on it. 

"Niiiiiiiiiice," Michael said, his head bobbing in agreement with the apron. "Wait a second, where did this apron come from?"

I pointed to the bottom drawer. "In there."

"Does that mean...Is this Grandmere's apron?"

I gasped. "Ew. No, it can't be. Grandmere would never wear something like that. And I'm sure she wouldn't even allow it in her house. She'd be completely mortified if she knew it was here." 

"If you say so," Michael said disbelievingly.

Olivia looked uncomfortable for a second. "Does that mean Grandmere is my grandma too?" she asked quietly, her expression showing she was almost scared of the answer.

I left this one up to Michael.

"Not quite," he said. "You know granny and pop back home? Well they're my parents. And you know who their parents are in Florida and California? Well they're like you great-grandparents. Which is what Mia's grandmother is to you."

"I don't like her," Olivia said, scrunching up her face.

I laughed. "Don't worry, honey. I don't like her much either, but you can't choose your family."

I looked at her, waiting to see if she had a response to that. A couple of days ago she would have said something about her not wanting me as her mother, but today, nothing.

Maybe I really AM making progress!

"Come on, daddy," I said to Michael, throwing him a smile. "Let's mix up this flour again. And this time, don't drop it!"

He grinned back at me and grabbed the bowl.

**Remember, it's your opinion that let's me know if my story is headed in the right direction. Like, I know what's going to happen, but there are still tons of details to be worked out, and I wouldn't publish this on if I didn't want your input.**

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	14. Floozies and Hepcats

**Aw, thank y'all so much. If you're liking the track Michael and Mia are on, you'll probably enjoy these coming chapters.**

Ch. 14

I don't know what it is about a sincere apology that throws Michael for a loop, but he's totally reversed his personality over the past week.

Well, I shouldn't say that. I mean, he's still Michael, of course. Sarcastic, witty, strong, possessive, intelligent…but now he's rekindled the aspects I treasured even more. Sweet, playful, adorable…

I just cherish them in a completely different way now. Like when you find a dusty old Nancy Drew book in your attic and skim through it—realizing that maybe Carolyn Keene could've been a bit more forgiving in her portrayal of Bess, and maybe should've stuck a flaw or two in Nancy, just for kicks—but you've still got a keen _memory _of the days when Nancy was everything to you.

Except Nancy wasn't the only guy I've ever been able to say _those three words _to.

But I really appreciate the level Michael and I are at right now. We've both got fond recollections of that time period…but are also fully aware of the foolishness and stupidity rampant among us in those days. It could've never worked out.

All that doesn't matter, though. I mean, of course it matters. It's just no use to think 'what if?' when you should be thinking 'what the hell am I going to do next time Grandmere calls?'

At least I have _something _to tell her now. Though I don't think she'll see the progress in Olivia letting me help with the sandcastle yesterday, or our group viewing of The Sound of music. And you can bet she won't appreciate Olivia and me singing along loudly to my old Spice Girls album. I know Michael certainly didn't.

But like I mentioned before, other than his usual Michael-level of annoyance, he's been pretty cool lately. I mean, when we all hunkered down on the couch yesterday—Olivia between us—Michael completely sang Edelweiss for me the way he used to.

"Wouldn't that be cool?" gushed Olivia as the credits rolled.

"Running from the Nazis?" said Michael dryly. "Yeah, probably."

"Don't be silly, Daddy," she giggled. "Like, singing for lots of people. Could we do that, Mia? We could be the…the Moscovitz Family Singers!"

Michael eyes bulged out, but he didn't say a word.

"Yeah…maybe," I said, my voice squeaking.

Aside from the fact that I can't sing, we're Renaldos anyway. Or we all would have been.

As if it wasn't awkward enough to be called Michael's family—even though I guess I am—I had to be reminded that Olivia is never going to see herself in that role. She's a Moscovitz. Michael's a Moscovitz.

And sometimes, I think I want to be a Moscovitz too.

For the non-royal aspect, of course. But if I weren't a princess, then…well…

- - -

"Okay," Michael announced over BLT's (and a bowl of Fruit Loops for me) one afternoon. "I think it's about time we got out and did something. We've been here almost two weeks and I really haven't seen that much."

Oh, God. Like that's how I really want to spend my vacation time. "Um, there's really not that much to do."

"'Course there is," scoffed Michael. "Why else would all these tourists come?"

Because they're _lame_. "Well, what do you want to do anyway?" I said through gritted teeth. We'd already hit up the zoo, and I'd had it specially shut down for us anyway. Does he really expect us all to go out in public like it's no big deal? What will people say?

The thing is Michael's been making fun of Genovia for years. And when he wasn't doing that, he hated it to the core. What if he's planning to set off a bomb? Or streak through the square? Oh, God, he'd be forever banished from Genovia. And Olivia would be forced to stay here. She'd hate me forever, of course. I'd never be self-actualized. I would never be back on such good terms with Michael! And there'd probably be some really awful press coverage.

"I wanna get icecream!" interjected Olivia. "And can we go to the movies? I wanna see Phantom Town 2!"

"We'll make a day of it!" said Michael jovially. "Doesn't that sound great? Really introduce her to Genovia and all of that."

Deep breath. Princess smile. "That sounds lovely."

- - -

Ya know, once we actually got out of the beach house, onto the tourist-worn streets of Genovia, it wasn't that awful. People didn't point and whisper as we passed. Paparazzi weren't swarming all over. It was kind of like being back in New York.

But all this kind of freaked me out. Am I that far removed from the public that they don't even know who I am? Christ! There are only 50,000 people here. You'd think I'd be stopped once or twice.

I guess I'm just used to being in the palace and surrounded by eager servants and ladies-in-waiting. Not that I cherish all that stuff…it's just creepy whenever it's not around any more.

We did end up going to get icecream, sitting at this little outdoor parlor right next to the beach.

"You go there a lot?" asked Michael.

"Isn't that where I've been?"

"Yeah. It must be pretty convenient to just be able to go for a dip in the ocean whenever. I guess that's one advantage."

I didn't point out that I hardly ever don a swimsuit, much less practice my backstroke. "There are other advantages," I said, looking over at Olivia. "I mean, there are lots of really cool dances, and pretty clothes, and really good food, whenever they actually cook the stuff you want instead of presenting you with some poor, defenseless animal whose life goal probably wasn't to end up in my mouth—"

Michael interrupted my tirade with an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

"What!" I asked incredulously. Olivia had fallen into giggles too. "What's so funny?"

She shrugged, still laughing at her father clutching his stomach and gasping.

"Seriously, who drugged your icecream?"

He finally regained his composure, wiping the corners of his eyes. "I don't know what got into me," he said, chuckling weakly. "I just…only you could go from schmoozing to some rant about the horrors of meat."

"It is awful!" I insisted. "There are some websites I could show you that really go into the workings of the meat industry. If you'd just read a little about it, you'd see what I mean—"

"Mia," said Michael slowly, though that signature grin was playing at his lips. "I. Love. Hamburgers. I will never stop. Hamburgers and I are destined to be together until the end of time. I'd invite you to the wedding, but I'm afraid you'd freak and cry and scream at great-aunts or nephews."

Replace "hamburgers" with "another woman" and you've got reality.

ARGH! I CAN'T BE LIKE THIS!

Michael was looking at me strangely as he took a long, slow lick of his mint chocolate chip.

Jeez.

- - -

"So…spill," said Michael abruptly one evening. Olivia had already been put to bed, but I had yet to turn in. Even though I got the privilege of a warm, inviting bed that night, I was taking my sweet time getting to it.

"Spill what?"

We were sitting side by side on the couch, a rerun of the Real World playing on the mute television. He nudged me playfully, the absence of his shirt making this all the more uncomfortable. "C'mon…you know…"

I inched away from him, trying to give off an air of indifference. "Nope, can't say I do."

He closed the distance between us. "You haven't told me what _you've _been up to these past few years. I mean, I've been bringing up Olivia, but you…you remain the enigma."

"Well…" I said slowly. "Just princess stuff, I guess. It's really not all that interesting."

Michael didn't seem to believe me, though I'm fairly positive my nostrils weren't flaring in the least. "No fun? No friends, maybe, that you went out with? There had to be _someone _your age."

"I saw Lilly and Tina a couple of times," I admitted uncomfortably. But instead of the expected indignant reaction at being left out of these reunions, Michael's response was something else entirely.

"That's it?" His eyes narrowed slightly. "Just Tina? And my _sister_? No…no guys? Lots of people have guy friends," he finished quickly.

"Rene, I guess…"

"And how closely is he related to you?" cut in Michael.

I practically laughed at loud at the odd expression on his face. "I don't know! Pretty distantly. Why does it matter?"

He seemed to recover. "Rene…he's the one with all the floozies, right?"

"Floozies? Yeah, okay, _hepcat_."

"Not like you, though," said Michael, ignoring that last jibe. "You're not like that at all. Want a drink?"

Following up his observation that I wasn't an easy woman with an invitation to inebriation seemed a bit silly to me, but I accepted. Lord knows I could ease some tension right now.

- - -

"Okay, okay! Do it again! Do the one where she just woke up!"

I turned away from him, rolling my shoulders back a couple of times in preparation. When I whirled around again, I was an entirely different woman.

Though not completely unrelated, some might say.

"Amelia!" I barked. "Amelia, where've you put my rouge!" Michael broke into a fit of giggles as I took a drag of my invisible cigarette. "Don't shield your eyes, child! It's a nightie, not a bloody corpse!"

"Brilliant!" he said, getting shakily to his feet. "Okay, more drinks? You up for more drinks?"

Considering Michael was a lot less prone to make fun of me whenever he was hitting the sauce, I only too readily agreed.

Another side-effect of Michael's intoxication was one in which I took a poorly concealed pleasure. "Here ya go, daaaaahlin'," he slurred, coming up from behind me with an overflowing shot glass. I took it from him, allowing him the opportunity to wrap both arms around my waist.

This fact had obviously slipped Michael's mind before we began drinking, but he was always easily shitfaced. I could hold my own for much longer than he could.

"You're so pretty," came his voice, thrilling my ear. "That's why you're my Mia. No one else's. Not that Rene guys. Always my Mia."

Ugh, that is one thing completely exasperating about this version of Michael. He likes to live in the past. Mind you, his sober counterpart is on an entirely different path of life now.

"Maybe I should get to bed," I said half-heartedly, slipping out of his grasp.

But Michael seemed reluctant to let the evening end. "Wait, wait, I can come with you!"

Now _that's _an idea. Why shouldn't he? It's kind of ridiculous that a grown man is being subjected to curling up uncomfortably on that rock-hard couch. The bed is plenty big enough to comfortably situate two totally uninvolved adults.

"Don't get any ideas," I told him firmly as I turned down the sheets.

At least not any that'll be gone by the morning.

**If only someone weren't _arriving _in the morning...**

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	15. Moscojuice

**Sorry about the wait! It might be a while before the next chapter too. Tomorrow's too soon and I've got work on Thursday and Friday, plus, I'm getting the 6TH HARRY POTTER EEEEEEE!**

**But I'll certainly try.**

Ch. 15

"Okay, hands off," I said for at least the fifth time, wincing as I did so. God, I hate having a conscience.

Michael settled for resting his head on my stomach. I didn't protest. Seriously, though, there's nothing erotic in the least about that! You could argue that maybe the purest thoughts weren't floating through my head during this, but that couldn't be helped.

"You're still my girlfriend, aren't you, Mia?"

"Eh…not exactly."

"We never broke up!" he rationalized. "You at least have to say 'I dump thee!' or else the deal isn't done."

Or maybe I have to state "Moscojuice" three times. Click my heels and whisper "There's no place like a broken home"?

"And there were no other guys for you. Just me, right?"

There's a difference between being completely hopeless with the opposite gender and never properly ending things with your old boyfriend, but I wasn't about to educate Michael.

"Well, what about you?" I said, turning things around. "There must've been other girls. I mean, I don't blame you. I…well, it's perfectly understandable. You couldn't be expected to just wait for me. Unless…unless you never considered us broken up? That's really sweet, Michael, but…there were other girls, weren't there?"

A loud snore was my only reply.

I've got to learn not to take the words of drunken-Michael to heart, especially when I'm painfully sober. This is thanks in large part to Grandmere—I can't thank her enough for all the encouragement she's given me in my romantic endeavors, though I suppose she's not to blame for this—who believes a good threshold for alcohol is a necessary quality in your royal. Apparently, one of Grandmere's favorite tactics is to get the other party hopelessly drunk before they get down to business deals.

- - -

God invented Sunday as the last day, right? And he said that we should rest and appreciate everything around us on this ONE day of the week.

So how come Grandmere chose Sunday as the day to come barging into the little beach house, demanding to be let in the loop about what was going on? Did she not get the memo about today being the day of rest?

She stopped right in her tracks though, when she opened the bedroom door and saw that Michael and I were sharing the bed.

I rubbed my eyes sleepily, staring dumbfounded up at her.

"Amelia," she said through gritted teeth, throwing death stares at Michael who was lying as still as a rock next to me. "Please make yourself presentable and join me in the kitchen. NOW."

Um, it's not as if I'm NAKED under here, I wanted to tell her, shooting her down. But I didn't. I was in too much shock. And also, the rum Michael and I had found in the cabinet last night was still coursing though my body. It probably wasn't the best idea to have drunk almost two entire bottles between us.

Then again, since Sunday IS the day of rest, I was expecting to be sleeping it off mostly. Maybe a lie down on the beach while Olivia builds sandcastles or whatever, but I certainly wasn't accounting for debating with Grandmere over anything.

I threw Michael a cautious look—he just groaned and rolled over—grabbed my robe and headed for the door. "It might be wise to just lay low until she's gone," I advised him.

"I'm not going anywhere," he mumbled in assurance, looking a little scared to tell you the truth. I don't know what he's freaked out about. Grandmere doesn't even know about all the passes he made at me last night.

And neither does he.

I grinned back at him. "She's not that bad, Michael. She's just a little on edge about the whole heir thing."

I, of course, didn't believe my own words; I just wanted to calm him down a little. Because Grandmere is certainly as scary as she seems.

"That," she said sternly, when I finally traipsed out to the kitchen. She pointed a perfectly manicured (and deathly pointy) finger in the direction of the bedroom I'd just walked out of, "is not your wedding bed. Do you not remember how this whole situation started?"

I yawned rudely, but not meaning to be rude at all. "Of course I remember how it all began. Aren't you just a bit thankful for Olivia, though? Ya know, in light of recent circumstances."

Her eyes flickered as she thought this over. Score one for me!

"And also," I continued, not wanting to give her the chance to rebuke me. "Not that there's anything going on with me and Michael anymore, but even if there was, I. Don't. Have. A. Uterus. Remember? So history cannot possibly repeat itself."

For a second she actually looked beaten. I thought I had finally won something over her. But then she opened her mouth and bit back twice as hard.

"I don't care what you think you are doing here with this boy, with or without a uterus, Amelia. You are not to get involved with him again, I forbid it. I am willing to accept that child as your own and as the next heir, but I have never been willing to accept that boy, and I never will be. He's not good enough for this family and I will not tolerate this game you're playing, whatever it is. Now once you've got this business with your daughter sorted out, call me. Then we can start making arrangements."

She picked up her fur purse and stormed out of the cottage before I could even contemplate all that she'd said.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Olivia peeking out of the door to her bedroom, looking absolutely horrified. I made a step towards her and she quickly stepped back in and shut the door, keeping me out.

Great, just great.

After a minute of pointless knocking and gentle pleading to get her to open the door, I walked back into the main bedroom where Michael was putting his shirt on. "So how's Grandmere?" he asked casually, not giving me any hint whatsoever as to whether or not he'd heard a word she'd said to me. Though the walls are pretty thin, and she hadn't been whispering, so chances are he heard.

"As good as ever," I replied. "But I think she scared Olivia, she's locked herself in her room and won't let me in."

"Come on," he said softly, moving towards the adjoining bathroom like a secret agent in an action movie. "I bet she didn't think to lock this door."

I followed him as quietly as I could, hoping Olivia didn't suddenly hate me again just because Grandmere scared her.

"Hey, sweetie," Michael said cheerfully as he swung the door open. "Are you okay?"

Olivia was sitting on the edge of her bed, cuddling her one-eyed teddy bear closely. "She's horrible," she whispered. "She's not really my grandma is she? She was yelling."

"She was just a little bit angry with me," I told her gently. "Nothing for you to worry about. She'd never be like that with you."

She looked up at me with her big brown eyes. "Why was she like that with you? I don't want her yelling at you."

"Oh, really?" I couldn't help asking. Michael shot me a look that read: Don't push it.

I looked back at Olivia. She was now shaking her head. "No. I...I guess I like you."

Hallelujah! Never have such words sounded so good.

"You can be nice sometimes," she added, sniffling into the poor teddy.

I didn't dare push it any further. Just hearing that she liked me was enough for today. Maybe we can explore the possibility of her loving me and calling me mommy later.

Whoa, did I just refer to myself as mommy? I don't know if I'll ever be quite ready for THAT.

**Reviews might quicken Schwartzibrow's editing process.**


	16. Perfecting a British Accent

**Sorry for the wait. I finished Harry Potter on Saturday afternoon and then ended up watching a lot of Arrested Development instead of writing. But here's the chapter, and I hope y'all aren't disappointed.**

**Dedicated to Kristin, who really should update her own story.**

**Same goes for the other authors who read my story.**

Ch. 16

Olivia brightened suddenly. "I'm gonna go make breakfast!"

Michael made no move to stop her as she skipped out the door. "Uh, does she know _how _to cook?"

"Oh, you're one to talk," he laughed, sitting down next to me on the bed. "She's got the cereal thing down pat. Maybe she can show you how."

"Maybe I can show you a good hangover remedy."

With a sudden drop of his head, Michael was leaning rather uncomfortably against my shoulder. "Thank God!" he mumbled into my t-shirt. "You know?"

"Know what?"

"About my hangover. I was kinda hoping no one would notice. It might lead to some…_awkward questions_."

As long as he's not the one asking.

"How'd you know?" he asked, looking offended. "I'm pretty good, you know. Olivia's never caught on."

Never? As in this isn't the first time Michael's gotten drunk since I left? Whatever happened to his life of solitude? The VOW OF SILENCE? And I'm seriously hoping that celibacy thing stuck.

Or was that whole "Michael shaved his head and became a monk" thing just a dream?

Seeing as how I was running my hands through his thick brown hair, I'm guessing so. "Oh, sweetie," I laughed. "It's kinda obvious. Plus, I was kind of there whenever you were hitting the sauce."

"So how are YOU hiding the killer headache? I need an aspirin," he whined.

Poor, poor Mr. Moscovitz. I've hardly ever gotten drunk with him before, but Grandmere's little soirees were known to leave him hanging over the toilet for ages.

"I'm never drinking again. I don't even _remember _last night. Was I acting like a total idiot?"

"Of course not!" I assured him. He was much preferable last night to the guy who greeted me upon my return to New York. "You were fine. Just…just fine."

He looked up at me, his forehead wrinkling. "If I, um, if I did anyth—sorry. I know that's over and we shouldn't. I mean, it's not like I remember it at all, so it shouldn't matt—we used, uh, _protection_, didn't we?"

"Protection from what?" I asked blankly.

"Oh, that's right," said Michael, laughing nervously. "The uterus thing. So there's no chance…um, I really don't usually do that sort of thing. I'm responsible, I swear. And I won't do it again, unless…"

"Won't do what?" I was still completely in the dark. What did my uterus have to do with the events of—_ohhhh_…

My sudden bout of the giggles seemed to trouble Michael even more. "It's been a while!" he said defensively. "And…well, I can't be blamed for anything."

"Michael, we didn't do anything," I assured him, still chuckling a little. "We just shared the bed. I didn't think it was fair to make you sleep on the couch."

"N-nothing?" he stammered. "I guess…I mean, you _were_ sober…can't be blamed…didn't want to take advan—let's go check on Olivia, 'kay?"

Michael shuttled me into the kitchen, his hand uncomfortably warm on the small of my back. "Are you okay, Daddy?" asked Olivia, looking up at him intently from her bowl of Cap'n Crunch. "You look really creepy."

"Oh?" was all Michael said in reply. But she was right. Bags under his slightly bloodshot eyes…traces of drool still present on his chin…chocolate locks in ever direction…

He grabbed a cereal box out of the pantry and turned to me. "Breakfast?" he said, wincing as he shut the cabinet door.

I took the Fruity Pebbles from him. "Don't worry about it. Just go back to bed." Michael smiled appreciatively, so I added under my breath, "You never could hold your liquor."

With an adorable blush and a slightly embarrassed grin, he shuffled back towards the bedroom, his pajama bottoms bunching up at his feet.

The fact that I want to follow him back there and pounce doesn't mean there's anything wrong with me, right? I mean, lots of people love the effects of hangovers. It's like how sweat is a turn-on or…or…people can't help but watch a car crash. Human nature!

There might be a hint of animal magnetism in there.

Once the door was safely closed behind him, I busied myself with fixing my cereal. Who says I can't cook? Thermopolis has got mad gourmet skills. Maybe I can't work a stove worth a damn, but damnit—I can pour.

"So, Olivia," I said casually, taking a seat beside her as she shoveled the golden cubes into her mouth with far more hand-eye coordination than I could ever hope to have. "Does your daddy get headaches in the mornings a lot?"

She looked up at me, her brows furrowing as she chewed. "He had tonsolomitis," she said slowly. "Is that the same thing?"

I tried another tactic. "Does he have lots of girlfriends?"

"Like you?" she asked, still looking a bit puzzled.

"Yeah, like—no, no, not like me at all. We're just friends."

"Then what kind of girlfriend?"

I fumbled for an explanation. Jeez! Doesn't she watch Friends? "Like one who sleeps over and he's really happy around her and talks about her a lot to you. And he wants you to like her a lot because he likes her so much."

Her confusion seemed to deepen even further. "Like you," she said more firmly, looking up at me with those big brown eyes.

"Michael doesn't like me," I insisted. "I'm not his girlfriend. I mean, like, someone he's in love with. That would be his girlfriend."

"But what if—" Olivia began.

"Do we have any Advil?" said Michael, appearing very suddenly in the doorway. Okay, seriously. I never even heard him leave the bedroom.

"Go away, Dad!" hissed Olivia. "This is top secret."

"Top secret, eh?" he said, eyes darting suspiciously between us.

"Girls only!" she said forcefully, raising her eyebrows.

After one more penetrating look around the room, he shuffled back to the bedroom.

Jeez. Who knows how much he heard?

"What were you saying?" I said to Olivia after my heart rate had returned to normal.

"Oh, nothing."

"What happened to girl talk?"

"Go have some girl_friend _talk."

I shook my head. "You're crazy, kiddo. Now let's get out of the house…go do something. Have you ever seen a sand dollar?"

"A what?"

I sighed in relief. So not a good idea to be in such close proximity to my supposed boyfriend. Who knows what might happen? Or what he even knows?

Not that any of Olivia's speculation has anything to it. Just the silly observations of a child.

- - -

No wonder Michael had nothing resembling a love life (at least as far as Olivia knew…which doesn't seem to be much). He was spending all of his time studying James Bond movies. Brushing up on his somersaults. Shining his Walter PPK. Perfecting a British accent.

Homeboy has managed to pull off the sinister silent creep-up-and-scare-the-hell-out-of-Mia move without the blink of an eye. Twice now!

"Whatcha doin'?" he said in my ear, appearing suddenly beside me as Olivia and I were walking back to the cottage. Eerie, huh? How could I have not seen him walking out of the house!

It took me a moment to recover, clutching my heart as Michael grinned. "Christ! Do you always have to do that?"

"What's the big deal? We're just having fun."

"_You're _having fun," I corrected. "Jumping out and surprising me all the time. My heart wasn't made for this, you know."

"You surprise me all the time," said Michael ambiguously. "That's not fun?"

"It's not…intentional," I said slowly, unsure of what he was talking about.

"Hey, Olivia," said Michael, turning his attention away from me. "Mia and I are gonna go for a walk. That all right?"

She just shot me a grin and scampered into the house. Cute little brat.

"Come on," he said, walking a few steps ahead of me.

I stared after him for a moment. Olivia is reading way too much into this, alright? I mean…Michael and I had our thing, and for seven years that was pretty nice. But I'm different now! I was in love with a completely different guy.

But…I've befriended that guy. And we're raising a child together. And he's still pretty cute.

I caught up with him, falling into step with his bare feet as we padded along through the sand.

"You haven't changed, you know," he said, breaking the silence.

Crap.

"I mean it," continued Michael, taking my expression the wrong way. "Like, when you first showed up at my apartment. All I could see was, well, you _that night_. When we fought and you…well, you didn't wanna be there any more. But you're still you. You're not all pretentious like I thought you'd be. That's what I meant by surprises."

"So…so it's a good surprise?" I said nervously, not even sure what I was saying any more.

"I'd say so," said Michael, employing that voice I hadn't heard in years.

Oh, God. It was hisSexy Growl.

Of course, it had always been a joke between Michael and me, stemming from his obsession with none other than the Bond movies. He thought he'd try and be a ladies' man and woo me into his pants, but I'd giggle any time Michael would 'sexily' cock an eyebrow or purse his lips at me.

I tried to laugh. Really, I did! But at that point, anything Michael did was irresistible to me.

"Maybe…maybe I should go check on Olivia," I said breathlessly.

"She knows not to touch the stove. She's learned from your mistakes," joked Michael, taking a step towards me.

I so cannot handle this! It's far more than enough that Michael doesn't find me completely repulsive. I can cope with that. But for him to just waltz back in and have me trembling within weeks?

NOT COOL.

So, in accordance to Michael's opinion of my monotony, I turned and ran inside.

**Reviews are always nice.**


	17. Wake Up Call

Ch. 17

My eyes were blurry with tears when I finally pushed through the front door. But they weren't clouded enough for me to miss what was happening in the kitchen: Olivia was reaching for the toaster with a butter knife.

My heart stopped beating altogether as I lunged for the knife. "Stop!" I cried dramatically.

She pulled the knife back, just inches from the toaster, and looked at me as though I were crazy. "My toast is stuck," she said plainly.

Relieved more than I could ever think I could be, I took the knife from her and then, without a word, I enveloped her in a hug.

"What is it, Mia?" she muffled, with her head against my chest. She tried to pull back, but I had her locked in a vice-like grip.

"Never," I said after taking a second to compose myself and letting her pull away slightly. "Never, ever _ever_ put a metal object, like that knife, in the toaster. Okay, sweetie? You scared me."

She looked confused for a second. Then she just nodded her head slowly and muttered an apology.

"Shh, it's okay," I said, pulling her head back against my chest so I could run my fingers through her golden hair. Hair that could have been frazzled if I hadn't come in when I did. "Just so long as you're okay, it's all okay."

"What's going on?" Michael asked from the doorway. I turned around to see him looking at us with a confused look on his face.

"Oh," I said, pulling back completely from Olivia. "We just had an almost-accident, but it's all okay now."

"What happened?" Michael pounced, grabbing for Olivia, who looked both confused and panicked. "You didn't touch the stove, did you? I've warned you about the stove before!"

Olivia shrugged at him. "My toast got stuck."

"She tried to get it out of the toaster with a knife," I elaborated. "Obviously you missed the knife-in-the-toaster part of your dangerous-kitchen-things speech."

"A knife?" Michael asked, his voice catching in his throat. "Didn't I ever tell you never to put a knife in the toaster?"

Olivia shrugged again. "I forgot. And I was hungry."

"But you could have been electrocuted, Liv! What would I have done then? I can't lose you."

He hugged her close to him, looking at me with a grateful smile over her shoulder. I could only stare blankly back.

- - -

Later that night, when Olivia was safely tucked away in her bed, Michael and I were curled up on the couch together, watching _Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind_.

I'd managed to calm down from the rather traumatic events of the day. Don't ask how. I mean, it's one thing for Michael to hit on me while he's drunk—but in the middle of the afternoon with no hint of intoxication?

Obviously…_obviously_, I like him. And it's becoming clear that he might return the same sort of feelings. But what do we do then? I mean, there's WAY too much history here to just rekindle whatever we may have had once upon a time.

It's not like I can just tap Michael on the shoulder and be all, "So should we make out or what?" No amount of years will change the fact that I AM NOT LANA WEINBERGER.

Thank God.

"Thank you," whispered Michael during a silent part.

"What for?" I asked genuinely, looking sideways at him. For not jumping your bones? Because I think I should be given _some _sort of medal for the amount of restraint I'm employing right now.

"For what you did with Olivia today. If you hadn't been there to stop her…" He paused to involuntarily shudder. "Who knows what would have happened."

My heart practically melted at the sight of his woebegone expression, complemented perfectly by those peat-bog eyes. It's hard to think of your raging hormones when the object can only worry about his daughter.

"Well, we don't have to think about that now, because I _was_ there, so nothing happened." I reached out and rubbed his knee sympathetically with my hand.

He moved a little closer on the couch. "I know, and it's no thanks to me. I mean, at the time, I thought you were running off because you felt uncomfortable or something. But now I know it was because you felt a motherly connection with Olivia and you knew something was wrong with her. That's what it was, wasn't it?"

I gulped, feeling guilty. That wasn't what it was, not at all. I DID run off because I was feeling uncomfortable with where things were going with Michael. But I can't tell him that now, can I?

"Of course it was," I lied, rubbing my nose with the back of my hand so he couldn't see my nostrils flaring. I'm sure I told him about that back when we were together. "I can't explain it, but I knew something was wrong."

"So that's why I'm thanking you. And I'm also glad that you _weren't _freaked out with what I thought was happening on the beach..."

Of course I'm freaked out! He's _Michael Moscovitz_. Cute…sweet…adorable…_those lips_…

Ya know, it wouldn't be _so_ bad to kiss Michael Moscovitz one more time. I mean, hejust happens to bethe best kisser I've ever experienced. So there's no harm in having a little fun, is there?

Especially when this doesn't seem so one-sided any more.

"Why would I be freaked out?" I asked coyly.

"That's what I was hoping you'd say," he said, grinning broadly before leaning towards me and pressing his lips softly against mine.

Just as the kiss was deepening, we both heard the squeak of Olivia's door and sat upright like two teenagers caught by their parents.

Startled, we both looked quickly towards the door to see it was shut firmly. I sighed, sure that Michael didn't need reminding that that door doesn't squeak until it's closing, not opening.

"Do you think she saw?" I asked, a little embarrassed.

Michael looked me straight in the eyes. "I'm sure she did."

"Do you think she'd be okay about it?" Please say yes, please say yes! I don't want to undo all the work I've made with Olivia just because of a half kiss.

"Well, she's never really been accepting of any woman I've dated, ever. In the end I just stopped trying to find one she'd be happy with, because I knew it wasn't going to happen until she was a little older. I'll go talk to her."

But…she'll be okay with this! She was _teasing _me about liking Michael! That doesn't sound like a kid who'd be easily upset by me getting a little closer to her dad.

He got up and left me all alone on the couch. I instantly felt cold without his body so close to mine. I didn't like the feeling.

**The next chapter will definitely be longer. I'm just having trouble finding places to add stuff. The suggestion to put two chapters together has been employed before, but in some places it just doesn't work. **

**I'm going to New Orleans tomorrow, but I'll update when I return..._if _my inbox is filled with reviews. Because otherwise my computer doesn't let me get on this site.Those new-fangled virus types.**


	18. A Sorta Fairytale

**So this one isn't fantastically long either, but I'll definitely strive for that in the future. The thing is--Schwartzibrow wrote these out with a 1000-word/chapter thing in mind, and with the plot laid out already and everything, it's hard to squeeze stuff in. Believe me, though, there will be enough chapters to satisfy your appetites. **

**Thanks for the reviews! And I had a great time in New Orleans. The best part was when I bought Mighty Ducks on DVD. Emilioooooooooooooooooooooo.**

Ch. 18

I watched Michael as he jiggled the doorknob. "Olivia, sweetie, just come on out here and we'll talk about this." No response. "How am I supposed to know what you want if you don't tell me?"

There was a somewhat selfish thought running through my head as I watched Michael plead with the closed door, and surprisingly enough, it had nothing to do with his ass.

He had mentioned other women, hadn't he? What other women! I mean, there was that immoral slut from work—but that was seven years ago! What happened to the Mr. Mom image he'd been whoring around me? He probably left Olivia with a babysitter more often than not while he gallivanted around the city with a skank on each arm!

"The other door's locked too," said Michael worriedly.

"Well, what do you wanna do?" I put aside my jealous inner-rant for a moment and walked over to Michael's side. This was more important than Michael's syphilis-supplier.

"I want her to be okay with this," he said, slipping his calloused hand into mine. "With us."

_Us_.

But just how many other girls had he fed that crap to?

"We could try the window," I said hurriedly, before I did or said something I'd regret later.

"Good thinking."

The only downside of my plan was that the window was already open when we got around to the back of the house. "Oh, gosh," whispered Michael, doubling up and clutching his stomach. "Oh, my gosh."

"Chill, Michael," I said soothingly. My hand automatically reached out to rub his back. "We'll just go look for her."

He jerked away from me, glowering. "It's not that simple. Look around, Mia. All I see is the ocean, and last time I checked, Olivia can't really swim."

"That's not my fault," I snapped. Hadn't most of the day been taken up by Michael's swim lesson? But knowing Michael, he's back on the bit about me being conspicuously absent for most of her childhood.

"You should've been there."

As if I hadn't heard this lecture a thousand times before. Not that it didn't mean anything—it just hurt a little too much. For a guy who had been kissing me only minutes before, he sure was intent on ruining my day.

He was still sort of fuming as I walked off. "Olivia!" I called. "Come on out, game's up!" I figured the longer I told myself that she was merely hiding, the more time I bought for my sanity.

I turned around briefly to see Michael jogging the other way.

Is it just me or is this a tad too much parenting for one day? As I pounded along the shore, I cursed myself for not slipping on a pair of flip-flops. By the time this is all over, I'll be boasting a pair of hobbitesque feet.

For once, though, I had an advantage over Michael. Being a pretty confident, Y-chromosomed gentleman, he totally isn't used to the 'freak out and weep hysterically' method of dealing with the lemons life hands you.

Which is why my ears were so sensitive to Olivia's sniffles, even though she was camped out underneath the stairs of a house six doors down.

"Hey there," I said softly, kneeling down beside her.

She merely sniffled and glared at her knees.

"Whatcha doin'?" I tried again.

"Leave me alone."

"Look, Olivia, there's really no need to get so worked up. If you'd let me—"

"All you care about is looking good for my daddy. He hates you. Did you know that?"

It sure seems like it. "He did," I said slowly, partially lying. "And he had every reason to. But we've worked things out. Believe me, though, I had no idea it would turn out like this. Hones—"

She cut me off once more. "He hates you!" she practically shrieked. "You hurt him and you're gonna make him cry again and he's gonna not get out of bed on certain days unless Aunt Lilly forces him to and it'll ruin everything, okay? Everything!"

"When didn't he get out of bed?" I asked, utterly confused.

Still glowering at me, she launched into her explanation in a rather clipped tone. "He used to tell me stories about this really pretty princess and she fell in love with a Jedi knight. They could do anything and had all sorts of superpowers and anything they wanted would just magically happen. But then the princess got greedy and realized the one thing she was missing was her very own bit of land. So instead of staying with the wonderful Jedi who did everything he could to make her happy, she pranced off to some stupid country where they praised her because they were stupid."

We looked at one another for a moment. "You're the princess," said Olivia unnecessarily. "The one that the Jedi knight used to go out and get really weird and sick because of."

I felt a sinking realization in my stomach. Sometimes I think I'd be better off unaware of what Michael did or how he felt these past few years.

But most of the time I know I wouldn't be.

"Maybe…" I started slowly, choosing my words carefully. "Maybe this is his happy ending. Everything could turn out all right, you know. The princess could've realized the errors in her judgment. She might actually really miss the Jedi knight. She probably even didn't get out of bed because of him sometimes."

"Really?"

I nodded, hugging my knees to my chest. "I know what I'm doing," I fibbed.

It's not that awful that I regained Olivia's trust through a white lie, is it?

"What happened to you teasing me about being Michael's girlfriend, though?" I asked suddenly. _Michael's girlfriend_—just thinking of that inspires an Olivia-esque fit of giggles.

She rolled her eyes. "I was _kidding_." Her gaze found me again, the corners of her lips turning up. "Maybe the joke's on me, though."

_"Well, she's never really been accepting of any woman I've dated, ever. In the end I just stopped trying to find one she'd be happy with…" _

I ruffled her wispy blonde hair. "We've all got your best interests at heart, Liv."

What's worse? Being a selfish loser or giving up great opportunities by choice?

Not that I'll necessarily have to pass up on Michael again. Olivia's basically given the stamp of approval! I just hope Michael agrees.

- - -

Michael looked like he was gonna break down all over again when we met him a few minutes later. "Thank gosh," he murmured, crushing Olivia into a bear hug. "I was so flipping scared. Don't…please don't do that again."

She nodded, pressing her face firmly into his collarbone. "Daddy," she whispered loudly. "You're gonna be happily ever after. It'll all be alright."

He sat back on his heels and looked from a giggling Olivia to a furiously blushing me. "Am I missing out on something?"

"Nothing at all!" I squeaked before she could say a word.

- - -

Once Olivia was put to bed, I was sure things would get awkward. "I'm glad you're here," whispered Michael, coming into the kitchen and resting his hands on my hips.

Glad and reluctant are totally two different things, right?

I couldn't help but grin. "I'm glad too." Of course I'm glad! Unless this is Michael's oddball way of telling me to get the hell out of their lives.

But I'm starting not to worry so much, you know? Not only is Olivia perfectly safe, but Michael has _seen _that she's fine and dandy…and perfectly willing to welcome me in whatever role I take in this family.

You know what? I think I might be happy.

"I didn't think…_this _would happen," he said shyly. "I didn't think it was even possible. But you always did surprise me."

"Oh, yeah?" I asked, the shocked one this time around.

He leaned even closer, this form practically molding into mine. "Definitely. Like when you'd blow up at Lilly sometimes."

"Oh, God, don't remind me," I groaned, thinking of shapeless, frizzy Mia, screaming herself hoarse over something stupid.

"You looked damn hot," he laughed. "It was a nightmare every time you'd come over. Cold showers and pillow-pounding every half an hour."

"Seriously!"

"Maybe I'm exaggerating just a little. But I was definitely turned on."

"Why are you telling me all this now?"

"It was just on my mind," he murmured, kissing my neck. "You're still the same, you know."

"I don't know about that…"

He silenced me with a relatively chaste peck on the lips. "Sweet, caring, funny, adorable, _hot_…"

I grabbed his wrist just as he began tugging at the hem of my shirt. "Olivia."

"We'll be quiet," he said quickly, a hint of pleading entering his tone.

"_Can _you?" I joked, causing him to blush.

"Okay," he conceded. "Bed. We'll go to bed like normal, but tomorrow. Tomorrow Olivia can go over to Sebastiano's and we'll stay back here…"

"And bake cookies?" was my coy retort.

"Oh, is that what they're calling it nowadays?"

**Y'all should all go listen to Van Morrison. Like, right now. But before you do that...review.**


	19. Lightsaber Duels

**Sorry about the wait! I've been bogged down with quasi-vacations and school orientation. Thanks to all the reviewers. You guys are too awesome. Hopefully this chapter isn't a disappointment.**

Ch. 19

Even tougher than turning down Michael's advances was crawling into bed with him shortly thereafter. No matter what I told Michael, we couldn't exactly slip under the sheets "like normal" after the events of the day.

I laid there, sheets pulled up to my chin, practically trembling like a schoolgirl as Michael walked out of the bathroom.

God, he's still every bit as hot as he was back in high school. And this new responsibility thing he's got going doesn't exactly hurt.

He lifted up the covers, loosening my kung-fu grip, and snuggled in right beside me. "Hey," he whispered, an arm snaking around my waist.

"You smell nice," I couldn't help but giggling.

One eyebrow shot up. "Just soap."

How is it that "just soap" turns me on and yet calms all my nerves at the same time? Maybe it's just the continuity. I've been to bed with _this _guy before. Never with his daughter in the next room—at least not when we were 'together' together.

But still…he's Michael Moscovitz. And after datinghim for seven years, I'm not so intimidated.

When I told him this, he looked even more confused. "You used to be scared of me?"

"Not scared so much…more like…like I didn't know how you wanted me to be?"

His lips brushed against the top of my head. "Why would I have risked my dignity and Computer Club membership if I didn't want you?"

I remember Judith Gershner's wrath at Michael and I becoming a couple and laughed out loud.

Michael continued. "I never told you this, but…uh…I once recorded this video confession of how much I love you, right? And I was gonna switch it out with Sixteen Candles or whatever you guys were watching that night—"

"When was this?"

"Uh, the summer before my senior year. I think I had heatstroke. Anyway, I had everything in place and then Lilly popped in the tape. The, uh, wrong tape."

"Ohh, _that _tape?"

"Yeah, well, I didn't mean—"

"With you in the headgear, waving around the lightsaber?"

My hysterical laughter at the memory seemed to offend him greatly. "I was fourteen, okay? And Star Wars is a masterpiece. Anyway, now you know that I was trying to make an ass out of myself in a completely different way."

I quickly shifted gears and gave him a sweet smile. "I'm honored."

"Maybe I should have combined my efforts," he laughed into my hair. "I could've won your hand by defeating Kenny in a lightsaber duel."

- - -

The plan for the next day came off as a little contrived when I tried explaining it to Olivia. Leaving out, of course, the part where Michael and I were going to, uh, solidify our relationship.

"Why aren't you guys coming too?" she asked as I fixed her pigtails.

"You're the one with all the friends over there," said Michael easily. "Mia and I will be over later. I'm just gonna help her…balance her checkbook."

"I can do that!" said Olivia. "I've got a clackilator. You know, Dad. My Barbie clackilator."

"And then…" I said quickly. "We're going to clean the whole house. Really get down on hands and knees and scrub the place down."

Olivia seemed to change her mind. "Well, Polly really wants me to come over. But you guys can still use my clackilator if you need it."

"Thanks, Liv," I grinned, feeling a teensy bit awful at the ease with which Michael and I deceived her. It was like we were teenagers again, our hormones turning us into pathological liars. Except Olivia was far from being either of our parents.

- - -

No sooner had Michael closed the door on Sebastiano and Olivia and had pounced on me, knocking me back into the couch, did someone knock on the door again.

"Forget something?" Michael asked, lifting his face from where it'd been buried in my neck.

"She must have," I told him, pushing him gently off.

"Shh," he said, pushing me back down. "If we just ignore it she'll leave without it."

We waited in silence for a minute, until we heard the shrill voice of my grandmother call out, "Open the door, Amelia! I know you're in there!"

"Damnit," Michael cursed, jumping off me faster than I'd ever seen him move. "What's she doing here?" he hissed.

I shrugged and stepped towards the door, making sure that my clothes were on straight.

"Hi, Grandmere!" I said with fake exuberance as I enveloped her in a light hug. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean, what am I doing here? I'm here to make sure everything is running smoothly. You refuse to return my calls, Amelia, I have no other choice. Now tell me, what is Olivia doing running off with Sebastiano when she should be here bonding with you and learning how to curtsy?"

Yeah, like I'M going to be giving Olivia princess lessons. Sometimes I still think I need them myself.

"Um, we were just trying to get her acquainted with her Genovian family," I lied quickly. This one ought to get her off my back. "Next week we're inviting Rene to stay."

"Well, get her back here!" Grandmere barked. "She needs to be acquainted with me most, right?"

I nodded and pulled out my cell phone.

"Would you like some tea?" Michael offered her while I waited for Sebastiano to pick up.

Fifteen minutes later Sebastiano knocked on the door again. "What's going on?" he asked in French.

I stepped aside slightly so that he could see Grandmere sitting uncomfortably at the table with Michael.

"Oh," he chuckled. "I see. Well, I won't keep you. Au revoir."

He turned around and skipped off down the cottage steps.

"Come on," I said to Olivia, taking her by the hand. "There's someone waiting for you."

"Daddy?" she asked innocently.

"No...someone else."

I felt bad walking her into the kitchen, completely unaware of the monster sipping her tea, just waiting to lash out there at the table. And I felt even worse when she finally saw her and hid behind my legs.

"What's wrong with her?" Grandmere asked rudely.

"She's just shy," I said, biting my tongue to keep from adding, "She hates you!"

"Yeah," Michael agreed. "Actually, maybe she should change out of her beach clothes. Come on, Liv, let's go put on some better clothes."

I saw the pointed look he was shooting me and jumped on board. "I'll join you. We'll be back in a minute, Grandmere."

"Surely she can dress herself!" Grandmere called out as we made a break for Olivia's room.

Once we were locked safely inside, Michael knelt down to Olivia's level while I rummaged around for a dress.

"Olivia, sweetie, I know you don't like Grandmere, but you have to be nice to her, okay? She's a very important person and we can't make her upset...unfortunately," he added under his breath.

I ignored the last comment and threw the dress I'd found over her head.

"It won't be that bad, Michael," I told him, scowling a little. "But we should warn her about us."

"Oh, right. Another thing, Liv, can you not tell Grandmere about me and Mia being...friends like we are?"

She frowned. "You don't want me to tell her that you kissed?"

"That's right," I agreed. "Can you keep a secret?"

"From her?" She scrunched her nose up and nodded.

"Good girl. Now let's go back out there. And remember to be nice."

We walked back out and Grandmere made a passing comment on how pretty Olivia looked in her dress before saying, "Now where am I going to sleep?"

"Sleep?" I choked. "Are you ready for a nap now?"

"Don't be absurd. Princesses never sleep during the day. I'll be staying her for a few days."

Behind Grandmere I could see Olivia shaking her head at me and throwing a cautious look at her now closed bedroom door.

"Uh, of course. Well, I guess you can have the bedroom over there," I pointed at mine and Michael's room.

"Fine," she said, gritting her teeth. "I assume you have clean sheets for me?"

"I'll make it up for you," I told her, throwing a look at Michael who was resting his head in one of his hands.

This is not going to be a pleasant visit, I just know it.

- - -

Later that night, Michael was sprawled uncomfortably on the floor and I was almost as uncomfortable on the couch.

"You realize I'll never be able to sleep on this floor, right?" Michael whispered to me after about half an hour.

"You realize I was just drifting off," I lied, shifting my position to attempt a more comfortable spot.

"You were not," Michael said. "I can see your eyes glistening in the moonlight. You've had them open this whole time. What's on your mind?"

I sighed. There was never a point in lying to Michael, he could see through me like polished glass.

"I'm just wondering what Grandmere's got in store for us. Obviously she didn't just come for a 'visit.'"

"What do you think she really came for then?" he asked.

"Olivia," I said simply. "And I just know she's going to stuff things up."

I closed my eyes to stop the tears spilling out, and Michael surprised me by slipping onto the couch behind me.

"Michael, there's really no room for two people on this tiny thing, you know," I told him, opening my eyes to look at him and feeling the tears coming down my cheeks.

"What can I say," he said softly, reaching down and wiping my tears away with his thumb. "I like to live outside the rules. We can make room. Just like we can make things work out how we want them to."

I admired his optimism, especially where my grandmother was concerned, but also thought he was being careless about it all. You can't just dismiss what Grandmere says. And she doesn't tolerate people living outside of the rules.

I stayed silent for a minute, while Michael's arm wrapped around me to keep himself from falling off the couch.

"Do you want to banish me to the floor again?" he whispered softly in my ear.

"No," I told him, enjoying his warm breath on my cheek. "Don't leave." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "Don't ever leave."

He squeezed me closer to him and we fell asleep in minutes.

**School starts soon, but I'll try to update in the next few days.**


	20. Ned Nickerson is a Babe

**So sorry about the wait! I got caught up with school and everything. I promise I won't take as long again. Seriously. **

**On a side note, my friends and I brainstormed up a play yesterday. It's called "The Legend of Princess Helen Keller." It's amazing.**

**Dedicated to Kristin, who wouldn't leave me alone. And who rocks.**

I was used to being spoiled, at least in the sense that my sheets were made of the finest satin and my steaks sweet and tender. Of course, no one bothered to ask whether I wouldn't prefer a nice salad to mangled cow, but I digress.

Princesses are said to live the privileged life—which, come to think of it, doesn't seem to work out for the best most of the time. Think Anastasia. And what about the Little Mermaid? Not the sugar-coated Disney version, mind you, but the gritty Grimm Brothers tale. But aside from the nasty rumors, being a princess actually does have its perks. I can't even remember the last time I made my bed. And seriously, calculators are so a thing of the past. I can't spell trigonometry, let alone apply it to my daily routine.

Though I can't think of anyone who can.

But despite all these privileges, I didn't have one essential thing. To think, I didn't even realize I was missing this till I rediscovered it. Maybe I'd spent so much time blocking out the memory of one Michael Moscovitz that I'd forgotten the one consistent gift he gave me:

Comfort.

You'd think that I'd be a wee bit cramped, spending hours cuddled on that tiny couch with Michael. But like I've said before, being with him kind of cancels out all the icky stuff. Like the fact that my grandmother was snoozing not twenty feet away.

Take this morning for instance. Back in the palace, my first sight upon waking was usually the hideous mural that decorated my ceiling—a scarily realistic depiction of my great-great-great-great-aunt Desdemona, who was captured by a band of second-rate pirates who had barely made it out of the harbor before they all contracted food poisoning, and Desdemona (never a fan of partially cooked fish) took control of the craft while hordes of men heaved their guts out around her.

Artsy, I know.

But when I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes here, I was met by the stubbly chin of my very own boyfriend.

"Don't stare, Mia," said Michael hoarsely, not even bothering to open his eyes. "It's not polite."

"I'm not staring!"

He cracked open an eye. "What do you call this then?"

"Counting the whiskers on your chin?" I suggested, which was very nearly the truth.

The supposed object of my inspection twitched in amusement. "I can dig that. But let's schedule the next appointment for some time out of the sleep of the sane."

"Grandmere's asleep!"

Michael lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Obviously faking it. How about you do the same?"

But I had already rolled out of his grasp, my feet hitting the floor with a muffled thump.

"Mi-_a_." He barely bothered to keep his whine at low volume. "It's no fun without you here."

I feigned shock. "Surely you know how to make your own fun?"

A tinge of pink came to his cheeks. "Not with your _grandmother_ in the next room…"

Fighting back both giggles and disturbing mental images, I walked towards the front door. "See you later then."

"Why?" said Michael, sitting up. "Where are you going?"

I grabbed a sweatshirt off the back of a nearby chair and pulled it on. "Just for a little walk. Go on back to sleep. I'll be fine."

But he didn't seem to agree with this plan, instead shuffling up to my side a moment later with his face contorted into a scowl. Before I could say a word, he'd grabbed my hand and pulled me out onto the porch.

"You didn't _have _to—" I began, but he cut me off with a rough kiss on the lips.

"I can be a nut job too," he said. "Woohoo! It's five a.m.! I'm wide awake!"

"Welcome to the club," I giggled. His hand slipped back into mine as we descended down the stairs to the beach.

It's weird to think that only a couple of days ago just the idea of being like this with Michael morphed me into a bundle of nerves and denial. I guess part of it was that I didn't think he wanted me back, and then the rest of me had no idea what to do in the event that he did reciprocate what ever the hell I was feeling.

Now, though, I am a fully changed woman. Or at least I'm back to what I used to be. The girl Michael loved for years and years. I didn't have a clue about much, but I was fairly talented at being the love of his life.

The only difference here is that Michael and I…we're just having fun. It's not love. It's…fooling around. I mean, sure, we had that relationship thing for a while, and I'll admit it, it was fairly decent. Damn near perfect, some might say.

But it didn't work out—for a reason. That reason being 50,000-strong and the main residence of my somewhat unsupportive grandmother.

So when Michael halts in his footsteps to pull me into a one-armed hug and bury his head in my shoulder, I've got plenty of experience in deciphering that to mean:

a) I should wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him gently  
b) He's having a great deal of fun with me  
c) He knows, as well as I do, that the fun will end some time

Even Nancy never extracted all this from her interactions from Ned Nickerson.

"This might sound a bit too normal for your tastes," Michael whispered in my ear, "But can we go back to sleep?"

Figuring we'd both need our rest for a full day of Grandmere, I heartily agreed.

- - -

Michael and I were back in his—_our_ apartment in New York, sitting out on the fire escape like we used to do when we were younger. "Michael," I complained. "I'm freezing. You can see the sunset just as well inside."

"This is better," he insisted, wrapping his arm around my shivering shoulders. "Believe me."

I snuggled closer, closing my eyes and smiling in spite of myself.

"What are you doing?" he laughed in my ear. "You'll miss it."

"This is how I enjoy sunsets. Plenty of people do this."

He didn't buy it. "Blind people?"

"Let's just not talk, all right?" If he was going to drag me outside so we could contract hypothermia, then he sure as hell couldn't instruct me on how to act. I've seen a million sunsets. But I could cuddle like that with Michael a million times more.

"Amelia," whispered Michael.

Okay, now he was just getting insolent.

"Amelia," he said, his voice increasing in volume when I didn't respond.

"AMELIA!"

I jerked awake, practically crashing to the floor in the process. Standing above me was a seemingly feeble old woman with demon eyes and lingerie a bit too youthful for her. What a lovely way to be awoken. Especially when I find that I'm alone on the couch without my newly rediscovered…man candy to cling to.

Michael walked out of the kitchen, sipping out of his mug carefully. "Jeez, isn't it time for you to get up?" The cute little grin he flashed me lifted my mood just a tad.

"I'm coming…I'm coming…" I muttered groggily, swinging my legs around until my bare feet hit the ice-cold floor.

"Breakfast is ready, if you ever choose to join us," Grandmere sniffed as I stumbled toward the bathroom.

"You cooked breakfast?" I asked incredulously.

"Of course not!"

My disbelief only grew as I whirled around to Michael. "Don't look at me!" he said, putting his hands up in defense. "We're being taken care of. Your grandmother trucked over the entire Palais de Genovia staff. They're staying in some seedy motel down the road."

How sweet. "I…I need to put in my contacts before I try and process any more information."

"Do as you wish," said my beloved grandmother coldly.

"I'll go make sure Olivia's getting dressed," offered Michael, disappearing into the bedroom.

I stepped into the bathroom just as the door from Olivia's bedroom was opening. Before I could say a word, Michael had kicked the door shut and began planting kisses all over my face. Kind of like a dog, but somewhat sexier.

"Is Olivia dressed?" I asked, half-laughing as he pressed me up against the wall.

"Not even awake."

"Oh?" That made it way less awkward to be making out in here.

"Yeah, how long do you think we have?"

We'd experienced this plenty back in the day. Frantic fumbling in his dorm room whenever Lars had wandered off to watch soccer with the other co-eds. Hilariously non-erotic lap-dances (given to yours truly) in the Moscovitz den.

"Five minutes. Ten tops."

He started to yank at the hem of my t-shirt, but refrained. "I should probably get Olivia up."

"And I need a shower," I admitted.

Stopping at the door, he kissed the back of my head and groaned. "We've become way too responsible."

I pulled away from him and started to strip off my nightshirt, eliciting another painful, guttural sound from Michael. "Don't do this to me," he hissed. "There are things our daughter shouldn't see."

_Our _daughter. I turned around again to find that he had slipped out of the room.

It's a good thing he doesn't know that I want him even more.

I stepped into the shower, both the icy water and the thought of Grandmere waiting cooling me down considerably.

Does she not know the meaning of vacation?

- - -

It's a big shocker that I haven't drowned myself yet, considering there's a whole ocean out there just waiting for me.

I am going to _kill _Grandmere. No joke!

Just a bit of exaggeration. I don't think even the heir to the throne could get off for murdering her grandmother, the beloved dowager princess of Genovia.

I'm not sure exactly how that happened. Maybe she doesn't barge in on the people when they're attempting to rekindle an old flame.

Though, judging from the looks Michael's been giving me, he's plenty on fire. Yowza!

However, there's absolutely no chance to act on this, what with Grandmere and her 40,000 manservants to contend with. And, of course, Olivia. But we had dealt with her!

It's funny, though. First I grew to love Olivia. Then I tried to put her aside for her father and I've got my grandmother all up in my grill.

Is this karma? Because I have to say, I don't know what all the hype is about. This SUCKS.

We don't even have a moment alone any more. She doesn't even leave me with Olivia! Apparently, I'm not to be trusted when I can't even teach a simple curtsy to a seven-year-old.

Excuuuuuse me. Hasn't Grandmere noticed that forcing etiquette lessons on a kid is no way to their heart?

Of course, inheriting the throne has absolutely nothing to do with love and affection. It's all protocol with a hint of forced politeness and complete emotional shutdown.

But I don't want to do that any more. I don't want to be the princess Grandmere ordered. I mean, you'd think I'd be happy with a tiara and a palace and crown jewels and all of that, but none of that even really matters to me. A Cracker Jacks prize from Michael would mean more to me than any scepter at this point.

**Review?**


	21. Much Hunkier Mr Rogers

**So it's2:30 AM, yet here I am, updating. I shouldn't put it like that, considering how long I've been taking lately. This time, though, I've got a legit excuse. Hurricane Rita. Anyway, now I'm back on track, and I will totally be updating more quickly next time. PROMISE.**

**I read over this, and it seems a little sub-par, but I've rewritten this chapter a couple of times now (I've been having to do rewrites since I worked a couple of new subplots in) and it still doesn't come out to anything fantastic. So sorry about that. It'll get better, though. Pinky-swear.**

**To Kristin, for being way too patient. And for writing kick-ass stories. Have mucho fun at Weezer. **

It's been FOUR days, and she still hasn't left.

"Do you think she's going to be much longer?" Michael asked one night. We were snuggled up on the couch attempting to sleep. But it's not the most comfortable position, and with the stress of Grandmere being here weighing on our shoulders, it's taking its toll.

"I don't know. In fact, I'm not entirely sure why she's here in the first place. I mean, if she was planning on whisking Olivia off to the Palace, surely she would have done it already, right?"

He murmured something against my back but didn't actually reply. He's scared. I know it.

He's scared of my seventy eight year old grandmother, who has tattooed eyeliner and a receding hairline (even though she covers it well).

"And Olivia still hates her, though she's getting better at hiding it. Do you think she'll ever come around?"

"To tell you the truth I didn't think she'd ever like you, but we overcame that obstacle, didn't we?"

"Yeah," I agreed, shifting my position so I could see him over my shoulder. "Once you stopped being a dick and weren't whispering bad things about me in her ear every five minutes."

He faked a gasp. "Me? Never...Okay, maybe once. But you proved too irresistible and charming for me AND for her, so no complaining. Right?" He leaned down and kissed me on the cheek as I took a deep breath. "What's up?"

"Michael...What are we doing?"

"Snuggling? Attempting to sleep on a tiny couch? Avoiding your grandmother? I don't know...you pick one. They're all relevant for me."

"No, I mean...Never mind."

"What is it?" he asked, looking sincere. More sincere than I've seen him look in years. "You can tell me, you know. Whatever it is, I'm here for you."

And that may be the problem, I thought.

I shook my head at him and braved a smile. "It's okay, really. It's nothing. Let's just sleep now."

He looked unconvinced, and he had good reason to be. But he shrugged it off and snuggled down into the couch deeper.

- - -

With Grandmere's staff at her beck and call, we ate far more sumptuously than the PB&Js and Doritos of the past few weeks.

Michael, never one for liver, was less than pleased by this turn of events, and he wasn't the only one.

"What's this?" asked Olivia, her round face screwed up in concentration as she attempted to unlock the mysteries of foie gras.

"Dinner," snapped Grandmere. You'd think she'd turn down the coldness just a notch for a seven-year-old, but even I, her only granddaughter, don't receive any sort of special treatment. She's obviously not one of those people genetically inclined to baby her offspring's offspring. But as much as Grandmere seems to despise youthfulness (along with light, joy, puppies, long walks on the beach, and Bob Saget), she certainly has no problem surgically altering her appearance to look younger. Or at least inhuman.

Not for the first time, super-imposed over the image of Olivia was my own seven-year old self, forlornly stabbing a rubbery slab of meat.

"It's already dead, Amelia," hissed Past-Grandmere, "Now eat it."

It was always the same when I was in Grandmere's company. Allowing me a choice in any matter was absolutely ridiculous in her opinion. And no matter how much my brain screamed "NO!" the message was never relayed to the rest of my body. So I'd sit, completely miserable, and mutely follow her every whim.

Now older and fully capable of standing up to one little old lady (towering over her, in fact), I did so. There was no way I'd allow my lack of self-confidence get in the way of my kid's happiness. "Come on, Liv," I said, scooting my chair away from the table. "I'm taking you for a burger."

"Burger?" laughed Michael, staring at me as though I'd sprouted a third ear.

Grandmere wore a similar expression. Though I had certainly changed over the years, she was every bit as insistent that she get her own way. "The food has already been served, Amelia."

"Sorry, Grandmere," I replied firmly, my trembling knees barely noticeable. "But I think I'll take my daughter and…and…her father out for something else."

"This is not behavior befitting of—"

I cut her off for perhaps the first time ever. "It's my choice, Grandmere."

Michael rested his hand lightly on my waist as we walked towards the door, and I stood up a little straighter.

- - -

Though I knew the stony silence from Grandmere upon our return wouldn't last long, I enjoyed it nonetheless.

"Two hundred smackarinos! Pay up, dahling."

I tossed four blue bills Michael's way. It was hard not to enjoy his victory, even though it meant bankruptcy for me.

"Tsk tsk," said Michael, shaking his head at my solitary ten-dollar bill. "If only you'd paid more attention to my tutelage in G&T."

"I don't see any quadratic equations here! Just your little red houses all over Park Place and Boardwalk."

He stroked one of the plastic pieces lovingly. "Yes, that was rather tactful of me, don't you think?"

"I think I'm going to put Olivia to bed." She had curled up on the couch in the middle of Michael's long-winded lecture on why his choice for a playing piece (cannon) aided him in demolishing my puny thimble.

She stirred a bit as I picked her up, resting her warm head on my shoulder.

"Suit yourself!" he called after me. "I'm just going to put the game away. After that I might lie down on the couch and watch the news. I can tell by your footsteps that you're insanely jealous."

Now what exactly could spark my envy? My smokin' boyfriend has got a preternatural talent for real estate. What more could a girl want?

Well, it might be nice to get more than a general idea of his feelings for me. All I've got to go by are the fact that he gets great joy from taking my money, and he is not totally opposed to making out with me.

And really, that's not much help at all.

- - -

Grandmere's tiff with me didn't prevent her from palling around with Olivia. "We're going shopping!" she announced gaily to the living room, while still managing to pointedly ignore its only occupants, Michael and me. "Come along, dear," she said to my sullen daughter. "I think our main objective today should be—" She glanced down at Olivia's pale pink tank top. "—sleeves."

Michael's head snapped around, but before he could utter an angry word, they were out the door. "Can you believe that?" he complained instead to me. "She's…well, she's a piece of work, I'll tell you. Doggone it."

I bit back a grin, though he continued seething. "You can say it, you know. I don't care."

"Say what? I just…I can't tolerate her. She's kind of a mood-killer."

Can't disagree with that.

"Bitch," I said firmly. "She's a cold-hearted bitch. Go on. No virgin ears in this room."

He raised his eyebrows, but I could see the corner of his mouth turning up. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"You haven't said a bad word in six years. It's gotta be tempting."

"I happen to enjoy my celibacy." He cleared his throat. "Verbal celibacy, that is."

"Fine, Barney." I padded into the kitchen in search of cereal, but before I get after some Lucky Charms, a pair of hands clamped firmly around my waist.

"I'm not that wholesome," laughed Michael in my ear. "Unless, ya know, you want me to put on a cardigan…then you can take it off…"

His hand had _somehow _worked its way up the back of my shirt. I closed my eyes for a second, enjoying the tickling sensation of his fingers against my bare skin.

It was really the perfect opportunity. Grandmere and Liv out for God knows how long…an entire beach house to ourselves…years and years without this sort of contact…

But what would happen afterwards? I mean, there's always the possibility that Michael's just been playing this up because he's horny. In fact, I _know _he's horny. I've slept with him in close quarters for almost a week now. Felt the proof, if you catch my drift.

"Wait," I said, wriggling out of his grasp. "Michael, I just—"

He arched an eyebrow. "Something wrong? We could always go to the bedr—"

"It's not _that_, I just don't—"

His expression changed from confused to genuinely pissed rather quickly. "Are you kidding, Mia? It's not like we haven't…"

"Things were _different _then."

"What? We didn't have Liv? You weren't so uptight?"

"Uptight! Since when am I uptight?"

"Uh, since you won't even let me touch you any more. When did you go all born-again-Christian?"

"I'm not. I just…I'd really rather not do this right now when I don't even—"

"Is this about protection? Cuz we don't need that, you know."

Gah. It seems that no amount of time will change Michael's lack of tact. "Just forget it, okay?"

He scratched at his head furiously, either fighting a bad case of lice or nearing his breaking point. "Forgotten," snapped Michael, circumventing me on his way out of the kitchen.

Now see, if he was actually in love with me, he'd totally understand. And THEN I'd shed my clothes. So it's a win-win situation.

But obviously, Michael's just in this for the meaningless fling. After he got what he wanted, he'd just…

Well, he wouldn't leave, considering his reason for coming here in the first place wasn't exactly my warm embrace.

That would get awkward awfully quick. Ya know, with Michael just hanging around, back to being his annoying, counterproductive self, I'm sure.

Of course, eventually he'd want to do it again. And again. And when we weren't unclothed, he'd probably just hang out at the palace, joking around with me like we've been doing lately. Like we've always done…at least when we've been together.

It's hard to tell where old Michael begins, and this new, sexually driven Michael begins. I mean, it's not like the old Michael wasn't interested in my body. Like Freud says, all of our actions are motivated by either sex or aggression, and Michael's never ever been the least bit violent towards me.

But then again, I always felt that his love for me beat out his…_masculine urges_ by just a bit. In fact, they were kind of tangled up in a way. I won't pretend it wasn't the same for me. But without the masculine bit, obviously.

Now, though, well, Michael's just…he's different, I guess…I mean, sure, he ACTS the same and all. But he has yet to say those three little words that set the two Michaels apart by leaps and bounds.

I peeked into the living room, where Michael slumped on the couch, glaring at the football game on TV. "Since when do you like sports?" I called out before I could help myself.

He didn't reply.

"Who's winning?" I tried again, walking over to him.

"The LSU guys."

"Which ones are they?"

"No clue." His brown eyes flicked up towards me questioningly. "Is there something you need?"

Surprisingly enough, when I sat down next to him, he didn't move away. Far from it. His arm curled around my waist, and I leaned into him.

"Don't you trust me?" he asked softly.

"Yes, " I said, before I even had time to think about it. But what was there to consider? I just kind of…knew.

"And you…love me, don't you?"

I chewed viciously on my lip, my eyes welling up as they met his. "Yeah," I exhaled. "Do…do you?"

"Love you?" asked Michael. "What do you think?"

And right then, I knew there was nothing whatsoever to think about it. Just a collar to grab and a much hunkier version of Mr. Rogers to kiss.


	22. Come Back, Yeller

**Dedicated to Liss, for being completely and utterly awesome. I used to be insanely jealous of Liss and the fact that she had a certain story I was obsessed with getting my hands on. But now--with an extreme amount of effort (and the fact that I've got the story now...everyone does)--I've managed to stop pretending to be angry with Liss. It's a constant struggle.**

**To the rest of you readers--thank you so much for the kind reviews. You guys never seem to think I suck as much as I'm pretty sure I do. This is a good thing.**

Each ray of the afternoon light, infracted by the stained glass window, held a different hue. His chocolate eyes were tinted amber, while his normally fair shoulders seemed to take on a golden sheen.

"You're like Midas," he chuckled softly, noting the hand I'd absentmindedly rested on his collarbone.

"You look like an Oscar."

"The Grouch?"

"The trophy."

His lips glanced my ear as he moved even closer to me beneath the sheets. "Trophy boyfriend?"

"You're too smart for that."

"And too good at Monopoly. You forgot that." His twig-like fingers danced across my stomach, overlapping one another as he tapped out a melody only he could hear.

I'd never been able to identify with the musical facet of Michael's personality. The extent of my talent in that area was the melody of "Heart and Soul" on the keyboard, and my playing style resembled the "hunt-and-peck" technique used by many an unskilled pianist.

Michael, though, was fascinated by all sorts of instruments—from the recorder all the way to some weird triangular German xylophone.

"It's a glockenspiel," he'd said tiredly when I pointed it out. Back when we were living together in New York, we'd make the twenty-minute trek to this tiny little shop every Sunday where Michael would pore over all sorts of musical gadgets, while I'd skim the Backstreet Boys sheet music.

"Come play this, Michael," I'd said one afternoon, beckoning him over to the baby grand where I'd propped up "Larger than Life."

Michael did cut short his inspection of the flute collection, but ignored my request, launching into another boy band tune instead, though one holding far more credibility in his mind.

Even though I couldn't fully grasp the fanaticism Michael had for music, it still fascinated me to watch him play. His fingers glided lovingly over the ivory keys, as I tried my best to hum along.

He shot me a sidelong smile, singing, "And wouldn't it be nice to live together in the kind of world where we belong?"

My love for Nick Carter was all but forgotten as Michael whispered-sang to me, our gazes locked.

"We should do that," I said a few minutes later, breaking the comfortable silence between us. We were walking hand-in-hand down the sidewalk after the store's customary request for us to make room for serious customers.

"Do what?"

"What the song said," I replied slowly, not wanting to enter the territory of begging Michael to make me an honest woman. We hardly ever breached this subject for a reason. It was just understood that we'd take that step someday. There was just no need to bother with all the formalities when we could live together sans Grandmere's involvement.

"We _are_ together," he said matter-of-factly. "We're happy in our own little world. What else do we need?"

"It's not gonna last forever," I said, playing the voice of reason for once.

"This might not," he admitted. "But we'll always be together. Happy. Just as Dr. Brian Wilson ordered."

I grinned back at him, mollified for the time being.

"Do you still play the piano?" I asked present-day Michael.

"Liv's got this Fisher Price keyboard she doesn't play with any more."

"What about guitar? You've still got Old Yeller, don't you?"

Old Yeller was the pet name Michael had for his acoustic guitar, taken from his all-time favorite childhood movie.

He stretched his arms, sitting up slightly. "I don't know, Mia. I don't really mess with that stuff any more. It's probably over at my parent's house." A glance at the window seemed to worry him. Without another word, he threw back the sheets and headed for the bathroom.

I was not so eager to let the subject drop. "But wait, Michael—" I shut the door behind us. Michael didn't even look my way, but was holding his hand under the jet of water coming out of the spigot. "—you love your guitar. Why wouldn't you play it any more?"

"Well, maybe when you come back to New York," he said, patting my bare waist, "I'll bust it out and play you a Stones song or two. Does this feel too cold to you?"

I barely passed my fingertips under the spray. "It's fine," I said quickly. "But…what about New York?"

He stepped into the stall, holding his hand out towards me. "Well, I was thinking—"

"Amelia, where are you?" echoed an all too familiar aristocratic drawl from the front of the house.

And suddenly I knew what Michael had been worried about.

"What do we do?" I hissed frantically at him, snatching for a towel off the rack. Though the cause of my fear was over a hundred feet away, I still felt like a huge spotlight was beaming directly down on me.

"Go out there and—and tell her that you just finished taking a shower! Now it's my turn. We were out running. That's how we got sweaty, not…"

He paused for a moment, water running down his chest in rivulets, and flashed his pearly whites. "Well, we'll just keep that to ourselves."

"Good idea." The towel securely around my body, I slipped through Olivia's room and out into Grandmere's sight.

"Amelia," she said curtly, looking me up and down with disdain. "Perhaps I should have picked up something for you while I was out."

I laughed sycophantically, avoiding her beady glare at the same time.

"Where's my dad?" asked Olivia, staggering through the front door with a giant shopping bag dragging behind her.

Crap.

"He's, uh, well, we were out running. On the beach, you know. And then we came back, and I hopped in the shower. Then I got out, and Michael got in. So…so we're both just showering. At different times, of course."

"Your hair's not wet," observed Grandmere.

Again…crap.

"I…uh…um, I wore a shower cap, because I was just about to go swimming and didn't see the point in—"

But Grandmere's lilac heels were already clicking past me. With growing dread, I watched as she pushed open the door to her bedroom.

"I believe Marie made my bed this morning, as she always does." Marie was one of her many droids created especially in the palace dungeon to follow her every whim.

My throat felt like I'd just tried to munch on a sand castle. Grandmere and I usually didn't have these little tiffs over boys. In fact, her only issue with me on that front is that I never saw any.

So why isn't she jumping for joy to see my clothes crumpled into a pile on the floor with the jeans and polo of a fully functional, extremely bright, rather gorgeous member of the opposite sex?

"Well, that was one hell of a jog!" said Michael jovially, breaking the awkward silence as he entered the room with a noticeable bounce in his step.

"Good heavens," whispered Grandmere. She sank down onto the couch, looking as horrified as all those Botox injections allowed.

- - -

"What's so wrong with him?" I asked tearfully.

Grandmere had ushered me, her nails digging cruelly into my arm, into the bedroom where less than an hour ago I'd been laying blissfully with Michael.

"For one thing," hissed Grandmere, lifting up a trembling finger. "He has got absolutely no respect for our family. For the crown."

"Just because he isn't intimidated by you—"

"_And_," she barreled on, ignoring my weak objection. "if it weren't for him, we wouldn't be stuck in _this _mess."

"If it weren't for him, there would be no heir."

"He's not the only boy in the world, Amelia. In fact, he got rather annoyingly in the way of you meeting suitable young men."

My voice shook as I replied. "I want _him_. I don't want some duke or the prime minister's son. Michael's suitable enough for me."

"Nevertheless," said Grandmere, her hand on the doorknob. "Genovia has got higher standards. I'm sorry, Amelia, but I won't allow it. He goes, the girl stays. That's the end of it."

A tear ran down my cheek, followed quickly by several more. "It's not the end. I won't…even if he's not…not my boyfriend, he's still Olivia's father. They need each other."

She looked down coldly at me. "As far as I can tell, this Michael Moscovitz is highly overrated. Olivia has plenty of family at the castle. One measly man won't make any difference."

"You don't get it."

"Oh, I get it, Amelia. You're besotted with a fool, which is why I can't let the fate of Genovia rest in your hands any more."

"You're abdicating…for me?" I asked in disbelief.

"Of course not. I'm taking Olivia to the palace while you pull yourself together. Really, Amelia, you're not entirely hopeless, but you do a brilliant job of acting so at times."

**Schwartzibrow gets a review?**


	23. Donald Trump and the Joads

**Many, many apologies for the wait. I just get so busy with school. These aren't premeditated delays in an attempt to get reviews, though I do love reviews and extend my gratitude to each and every one of you who bestow such pleasures upon my inbox.**

**Schwartzibrow's saga is nearing its end. Well, not for a while. But it's kinda close.**

It was a minute or so after Grandmere had huffed out of the room before I was able to pull myself into a standing position. My legs felt as though they were bound by ball and chain as I wobbled towards the bathroom.

Unwillingly, I met my reflected gaze in the mirror above the sink. I'd managed not to completely lose it while Grandmere was in the room, but once she'd left, it was only a matter of seconds before warm, sticky tears were cascading down my face.

It felt like ages since Michael and I had been cuddling so carelessly underneath the sheets. And the whole time, I kept thinking, "This is it. Things like this don't happen twice accidentally. We're meant for each other."

Having Michael and Olivia in the palace would've made it so much…lighter, somehow. Olivia and I aren't nearly close enough for her to take comfort in just my presence at the castle. We'll both just spend the whole time missing the man in our lives.

Obviously Grandmere is laughably off the mark when she says that Michael is "overrated." Ashlee Simpson is overrated. Michael's like…like water or air or Lifetime…something I can't survive without.

How ridiculous is it that Michael and I have only actually been together for a few days, and yet I'm already talking like this?

I mean, sure, we were together for years and years before this, but there was so much crap to wade through before we could get back together that it was kind of like starting anew.

I wonder if Fortune could find it in her heart to give me a third chance with Michael…

And who would take a seven-year-old girl away from her father, the only parent she's ever really known?

Oh, right.

So it was with a definite sense of gravity that I went to find Michael and Olivia. I kind of wished it had taken longer, but a minute later I was standing on the porch, watching them cheerfully mold handfuls of sand into a pseudo-castle.

"Come see, Mia!" called Olivia, spotting me before I'd even fully composed myself.

As I drew closer to them, my feeling of dread grew in leaps and bounds. I'd never have that sort of ease with Olivia. I can't make her smile like he does. She'll always hold him first in her heart.

And I'm pulling them apart.

Michael could've had this sweet little girl with any other woman. After all, the only thing we really have in common is our hair color and tendency to blush. Other than that, she's all Michael. Even if I had stayed, it wouldn't have mattered in the least. As much as I want this to be my family, it's just not possible.

"Something wrong?" asked Michael, standing and dusting the sand off of his knees. "Did you talk to your grandmother?"

I nodded mutely, shivering. But the cool ocean breeze wasn't the trouble.

"And…?" The hopefulness in his eyes is what broke me.

"Michael," I whispered, finding it difficult to meet his gaze. "I'll…can we talk later?"

He got the idea. Looking from his daughter to me, he straightened up and nodded curtly. "Sure…sure…" was his gruff response. "Later is good. Besides, we've got this sand castle to build."

Olivia glanced up at us curiously as we both knelt down in the sand again. "What's wrong?"

I thought about telling her the truth. She'd find out sometime anyway. We'd zoom away from Michael in that classy limo he despised so much, erasing any sort of mark he'd made in our lives.

But just the thought made me sick. "Don't worry; I've got it under control."

She beamed at me and knelt back over her handiwork. Only Michael remained looking at me, his eyes pleading for some sort of answer. But I just shrugged and leaned against him, hoping it wouldn't be one of the last times.

- - -

Grandmere appeared on the porch about half an hour later. "Amelia, may I see you for a moment?" she called imperiously, towering over me physically for the first time.

I soon remedied this as I walked slowly up the stairs, but this one factor did little to diminish my chills.

Feeling the heat of her gaze, I shuffled nervously, looking anywhere but directly at her—and definitely not in the direction of Michael and Olivia. "Haven't we talked enough?" I asked quietly, my lips barely moving.

She ignored this. "I'm returning to Genovia this evening—"

My heart leapt, performing gymnastic feats Paul Hamm could only dream of. "R-really?" I spluttered. "But—"

"A limo will be sent for the girl tomorrow. I told the driver eleven o'clock, but in labor-speak, that apparently translates to 11:05."

"She's too young," I said earnestly, making eye contact with her at last in hopes that I could elicit a drop of sympathy from her.

"These are the formative years, Amelia. Now, really. All you've managed to do in the past few weeks is lose your head over that silly boy. Your daughter is the future of Genovia. He has no part in it."

This is my punishment for years of making Michael sit through such cinematic masterpieces as Cyber Seduction: His Secret Life and She Cried No. I mean, the signs were there whenever my dad calmly told me in the Plaza tearoom that I was heir to an entire country, and then again when Michael's and my relationship fell apart as a result of my demanding job and his demanding…libido.

And now, Grandmere's swooping in from stage right to bestow upon my little family unit the gifts of heartbreak and eternal sorrow. Working title? Every Tiara Has Its Thorn.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Michael walking toward us, his lean frame coated in sand.

"He surely isn't coming up here in such a state," said Grandmere, not even bothering to lower her voice.

"Don't worry about it," said Michael, the barest hint of annoyance in his tone. "I just had to ask Mia something."

Grandmere arched an eyebrow. Or at least she moved her face in a way that her penciled brow shot up in amusement/interest.

"In private," he added. His calloused hand reached toward me. "Come on, Mia."

With the briefest glance back at Grandmere, I slipped my hand in his own and leapt off the porch into the gritty sand below.

For a moment, the sheer bliss of escaping my grandmother drove all my worries away. His feet, paler than usual with the tiny white grains that clung all over, could've crushed my own slight pair in a second. But instead they padded along beside me genially.

"What'd you wanna ask me?" I said after a moment.

"Nothing really. You looked near the end of your fuse, though, and I thought the old lady had had enough of a shock for the afternoon without you exploding on her."

"Poor, poor Grandmere," I spat sarcastically. Only yards away, Olivia sat sculpting her castle. Michael followed my gaze, and the corner of his lips crept up even further.

"She gave me the pink slip when I accidentally crushed the west tower with a bucket." He watched her for a few seconds longer before cocking his head in my direction, his chocolate curls flopping all over the place. "Didn't, uh, didn't you have something to tell me earlier?"

"Grandmere's leaving."

The smirk exploded into a full-fledged beam. "Serious? Well, that's good news! That way you can come back—"

"Michael," I stopped him before I could be too enticed by what he had to say. "She's…Olivia's going to go live in Genovia. At the castle."

"Alone?"

"No, no! I'll be there, but…"

The twinkle that had been in his eyes was all but vanquished. "I won't be."

"I tried, Michael, really. I want you to be there. She just won't listen. She doesn't care about anything I have to say. You know that."

"I know," said Michael quietly. "You're leaving tonight?"

"Tomorrow morning. Grandmere's going this afternoon."

"Oh." His voice was nearly lost beneath the crashing waves.

I watched him as he inspected his own feet; the only signal that I'd just delivered such awful news was his speechlessness. "You're not going to yell at me?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Michael," I said. I would've laughed if I hadn't already been fighting off tears. "Practically all we've done since we met up again is argue about my royalty and Olivia. Now this and…and nothing?"

"Why would I yell at you?" he repeated, still sounding oddly distant. "You did all you could. I know it's not your fault, and…and I know I can't fight it."

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, my cheeks growing damp as I lost my inner battle.

He grabbed my hand again, pulling me away from Olivia and into a slow stroll down the shore. "Don't apologize. Just…well, I know you'll take care of her. I don't have to ask." There was a short silence as Michael's brow furrowed in consternation and I watched him. "I want to be involved," he said at last. "As involved as I'm allowed to be. This isn't goodbye."

To think Lilly once referred to me as a "baby-licker." But when it came down to it, I was the one fleeing responsibility while Michael, forced out of his cherished role, was still willing to squeeze into his daughter's life in any possible way.

"It's not fair."

Michael shook his head. "Fair's got nothing to do with it. People go crazy trying to make things fair. You just have to accept it."

I stewed over that for a second before looking over my shoulder at our daughter, still hard at work.

"Wanna head back?"

He turned around as well, and then nodded. "But…don't say anything."

As if I'd volunteer for that task.

- - -

With my promise that Olivia and I would be joining her at Miragnac the next day, Grandmere left. Now it was just the three of us, alone at last.

Michael and Olivia had a few hours together, before it was time for her to sleep. We'd decided that it was best if I take her to Miragnac without her knowing Michael wouldn't be following, so she had no idea what fate was to bring her. Poor girl.

"I guess that's it," Michael said, exiting Olivia's bedroom and joining me on the couch. "That's the last time I tuck my little girl in and wish away the bed bugs for her."

There were tears in his eyes, but I couldn't suppress my smile. "You wish away the bed bugs each night? I didn't know that."

"There's a lot of things you don't know. She's deathly afraid of spiders, she's allergic to bee stings, and she puts up a good fight over the television remote. She also..."

"Michael, it's okay. You'll only be on the other end of the phone, and I'll get to know things about her myself. I'll be the best Michael-substitute I can be."

"I know you will be," he said, a tear finally falling from one of his eyes. He hurriedly wiped it away. "But it's still hard. She's my daughter, and I feel like I'm walking out on her. You have no idea what that feel...Oh." He stopped talking mid-sentence and looked away. "I'm sorry."

I sighed. Sick of this conversation coming up over and over again. Will it ever just GO AWAY? "You don't have to be sorry, Michael. I'm the one who DID leave voluntarily, I should..."

"Shh," he whispered, placing a trembling finger on my lips. "Let's not go over that again. You left, end of story. Let's just concentrate on tonight, because this is all we have."

He kissed me, but I could tell his heart wasn't in it. His heart was still in Olivia's room, wishing away all the bed bugs and guarding her door from heartless mothers who want to take her away from him.

And I completely understand.

Gently, I pulled away from him. "Why don't we just get in bed?"

You would've thought that what looked like our last night together _ever _would've been a bit more special. But it was hard to turn on the seduction as I watched Michael wearily crawl into bed, burrowing beneath the sheets. _It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair_, I kept thinking as I slid in beside him.

But Michael was right. Once you start thinking about all the injustice in the world, it's kind of hard to function at all. You've got to bear your own crosses before you start trying to help others lighten the load, or however the old adage goes.

I lay there, enveloped in Michael's muscular grip. Countless times I've drifted off to sleep in this position—his feet gently massing mine, my waist encircled by his pale hands, our breaths mingling.

His heart beat a dull rhythm against my back, falling in sync with his quaking shoulders.

It had never been quite like this before.

If I had known what to say, I would've turned around and told him immediately. But that's like the Bionic Woman saying to Helen Keller, "I know how you feel." Or Donald Trump telling the Joads, "The grass is greener on the other side."

_It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair._

But I had to accept Grandmere's mandate to keep Michael out of my life. Olivia would have to accept that Daddy can't solve everything. PETA was going to have to take it in stride that sometimes whales are going to depart this world.

What ever came of fighting back anyway? I mean, sure, there was that whole suffragette thing. And the civil rights movement wasn't entirely unsuccessful. And what about when I got parking meters installed in Genovia? I didn't just sit back quietly then and things got done.

_It's not fair…but I can fix it._

"Michael," I whispered, barely able to contain my excitement. "How'd you like to take a trip?"


	24. Put My Cell Phone on Vibraaaate

**I'm so sorry, you guys. I honestly would've gotten more of this done over the Thanksgiving holidays if I hadn't been feverishly trying to finish my short story for English (which rules by the way. We were supposed to have doppelgangers in it. So mine's about a middle-aged man named Gordon Bombay--bank teller by day, harlequin romance novelist by night. Things are all boring yet dandy until one evening when Morgana, a princess from one of his stories, shows up and starts wreaking havoc with his peace of mind.)**

**An excerpt (cuz I'm super-self-indulgent like that):**

_He looked uneasily at the doorknob, his hand pausing midway in its journey. Tomorrow's headline flashed before his eyes: "DIMWITTED BANK TELLER MERRILY GREETS SERIAL KILLER—HILARITY DOES NOT ENSUE."_

_Did he really want his death by the hand of his own pure idiocy be the one event in his life that caused a stir? Picturing the reactions of his friends and family was almost painful. Sure, there would be the ten-minute period where his loved ones would at least pretend to be inconsolable. After that, though, what would stop them from giggling—behind closed doors, if they had a modicum of decency—at his misfortune? Excitement was so rare in the community that the hubbub might keep up for weeks. He would much rather be fondly remembered as the strapping fellow who saved his town from sure peril by soundly defeating a rabid lion using only three toothpicks and an astonishing amount of courage. That man would have no difficulty opening his door to some scoundrel, for one false move, and he would have the bum pinned to the gleaming mahogany floors of his front hall, growling, "I've got your number, punk." Predictably, the coward's bowels would loosen in fear, but such messes were ineffective in daunting heroes._

**And now...the story you actually want to read (I think): **

Shortly before lunchtime the next day, the limousine pulled up outside Miragnac.

"Wow," Olivia said. "This is a nice house. It's nicer than your palace, Mia. That place is old and dirty."

I hear ya, girl. I've been petitioning for the castle to be torn down and rebuilt with more 21st Century things since I first moved in. But Grandmere says it's 'historical' and that things like the damp, cold feel are just things you get used to with time. But six years later and I still hate it. Plus it's ugly. Miragnac, while still ancient, really is a beautiful mansion since they're not afraid to keep up with the times.

"Yeah," I agreed, helping her out of the car so she could get a better look. "Come on, we'll go see if Grandmere's here."

The door opened and Grandmere stood there beaming at us. I've only ever seen her 'beam' once before, and that was when I turned up at the Palace after having left Michael and Olivia over six years ago. I guess now I know what it really takes to please her.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully, not noticing the fact that as soon as she opened the door Olivia scooted behind my legs. "I must tell you, Amelia, I was a little bit worried you wouldn't turn up. I remember you always used to joke about joining the circus or something ridiculous like that."

I forced a smile, but cringed inside at the fact that I'd had that very thought only twelve hours ago.

"Of course I came. You know how important the crown is to me."

"I'm so proud of you, Amelia," she gushed. Literally. "I never thought the day would come where I could say that without..."

She stopped abruptly and I knew what had caused it. My heart skipped a beat as I spun around to see what it was she was gawking at.

"I got the bags, Mia," Michael called, walking up the stairs laden with all our suitcases.

"Thanks," I told him, turning back around to Grandmere.

After a second of uncouth gawking, she composed herself and addressed him. "Michael. Thank you for bringing their suitcases. You may leave them right there, I'll have someone collect them. I'm sure you don't want to miss your flight."

"What flight?" Olivia piped up, sticking her little head around the corner of my legs. "Where are you going, daddy?"

"Daddy's not going anywhere," I said strongly, trying to maintain eye contact with Grandmere. "He's staying here with us."

If looks could kill, I'd be dead by now.

- - -

Always the perfect princess, Grandmere showed us all to our rooms, though her iron-clad grip on my elbow didn't exactly scream "charming!"

I could feel her eyes on me whenever Michael held my hand. When he would lean over to brush his lips against my cheek. The comfortable way I leaned into him as we walked down the halls.

"Well," she said through gritted teeth. "Though this has all been quite…quite lovely, we must part ways so I may settle your friend in his room."

"Michael's good here, Grandmere," I said, flopping onto the window seat in my usual suite. "Thanks anyway."

It looked as though that single comment was the straw that broke…well, you know. "Amelia, join me out in the hall, would you?"

Michael knew to play it cool. He was assured that I could keep control this time—it was always easier with his hand in mine. Metaphorically and literally. "I'll just unpack our things, babe."

The smile I flashed him didn't stick for very long once Grandmere started in on me. "What," she practically spat in my face, "are you up to, young lady? I was quite clear in my instructions. You and Olivia were to join me here…alone."

"Michael," I glanced up at the closed door cautiously then lowered my voice. "Michael is a part of our family. There's no way we could leave him."

She threw her arms up in frustration. "I don't see why! Really, Amelia, what is all the fuss about this young man? He hasn't got an ounce of royal blood. His table manners are absolutely atrocious. And his equestrian skills? My God! They're downright amusing!"

"_My _decision is sticking," I told her, my voice hardly shaking at all. "He stays, or Olivia and I don't."

She glanced at her ornate watch and did the Grandmere-equivalent of an eye roll. "Dinner is at seven. We'll talk afterwards. If he must come, seat him far away from me."

Michael made damn sure that I was occupied for the rest of the afternoon. It's funny, ya know. I'm used to having things given to me pretty easily—hideously expensive ball gowns and a well-stocked cabinet of Cap'n Crunch in the palace pantry—but it had been so long since I'd had Michael to dote on me and kiss my neck and whisper sweet things in my ear. This was one thing I didn't deserve because of my parentage. In fact, it made it all the harder.

The same goes for Olivia. I almost lost the both of them because of my title. Ironic, dontcha think? Kind of dispels the old fairytales.

"I feel kinda stupid," murmured Michael in my ear. Understandably. All this fuss he puts up about the privileged life and then he goes and enjoys himself quite nicely between my silk sheets.

I giggled like the silly little schoolgirl I morph into when he's around. "I thought you were the genius."

"I _am_," he laughed softly. "But I just wish I hadn't spent all those years back in New York, hating you passionately."

Normally, I'm a fan of Michael's passion for me—but this was a bit different. "But it's okay," he continued, grinning at me. "I should've known you wouldn't have walked out. You'd have never just left like that."

Although his expression showed no signs of joking, I couldn't see how he could possibly be serious. Or in a stable state of mind. I walked out! Neither one of us can deny this. It's a fact of life…one I thought we had gotten over!

"You should just tell me the next time your grandmother is making you do things," said Michael, planting a tiny kiss on the tip of my nose. "I'll climb up your hair and save you or something gallant like that."

"I'll bet you could," I replied with a sinking feeling in my stomach. Grandmere is guilty of many things, yes, but she never exactly ORDERED me to leave. It was just about everything surrounding the throne that despoiled our little family union.

He continued on with his little fairy-tale fantasy, oblivious of my squeamish expression. As much as Michael rags on me for being a princess, he seems to find parts of it rather hot. "Poor Mia, all locked up in her tower, reading her fair suitor's letters and wishing he'd rescue her on his white steed."

I rested a hand on his arm, though the warm, fuzzy feeling it gave me did nothing for my dwindling courage. "Michael…I…there's something you should know."

The letters. The stupid letters! Except I'm the idiot. Not according to Michael, though. No, I'm this martyr who's spent years waiting for our blessed reunion.

"I know everything," he laughed. "I know that I love you. I know that your grandmother is easily dominated. And I know that we have the cutest kid on the planet."

I definitely don't feel like a princess right now. I just feel like a slimy brat.

"Now what'd you want to tell me?"

When I opened my mouth though, this weird little croak came out instead of my confession. Is it even possible to lay here sans clothing with the cutest guy you've ever known and completely break his heart?

I guess it must be if I could leave the same guy and our baby to boot.

I'm not a mother. I'll never be one. Not that I don't want to be! God knows I've tried everything possible. Just…I'm too late.

But I won't be too cowardly. "Michael, I read the letters a few weeks ago."

A strange expression crossed his face. But no anger. No outrage. No disgust. Not yet. "You really look over them that often? I must sound like such a dolt."

"No, Michael," I said, taking his hand. Just keep saying his name. Just assure yourself that after this he'll still want to hear his name from your lips. That he'll still want to be like _this _with _you_. "I, um, well, whenever you'd send the letters…I'd kind of put them away for safekeeping. I didn't really read them."

For a genius, he sure took long enough to process that. "You mean, like, you skimmed them?"

He didn't seem so eager to hold onto me any more. "Well, no, see…see…I couldn't handle being reminded of you. I was trying to be, like, independent, ya know? My own person…"

Michael didn't say anything for a good five minutes. "I see," he sighed at last, rolling onto his back.

As uncomfortable as I'd been with his showering me with affection—I definitely preferred it to our present predicament. "But that doesn't change how I feel now. I mean, you know that I never stopped…ya know. I just couldn't bring myself to get back into that."

"Until you had to."

He was already slipping on his boxers, not looking loving in the least. "Michael!" I wailed. "It wasn't like that. It was…I didn't think I'd ever see you guys again. And then you came back. And I realized how…how I felt. That I still, well, that I still loved you."

It didn't seem to matter to him how I felt now, though. Because the main problem with Michael's and my relationship is that we'll never be able to get over the idiotic things we did in the past. Oh, and we'll never grow up and stop _doing _idiotic things.


	25. Existence of Edible Animals

**So this chapter is longer than usual, since I keep making you guys wait so long. But, hey, you can definitely expect another update--maybe two!--before I go back to school on Jan. 3. Right now, though, I'm gonna post this and go watch _It's a Wonderful Life_, the best movie ever. Besides _Old Yeller _and _Troop Beverly Hills _(which I now own! Three cheers for Jenny Lewis.)**

**And now, it's time for an excerpt of other things I've been writing besides this--my review of King Kong for the local paper!**

**Here's the bottom half:**

Kong_'s story is hardly new to anyone. A film crew scouting out a location happens upon a gargantuan ape who falls fast and hard for the film's lead actress. Trouble brews as it is wont to do when such romances dare to flaunt themselves in society's face. Some day we're all just going to have to accept that love crosses all barriers, including the metal ones proclaiming "DO NOT FEED THE GORILLA." _

_Does my description catch your fancy? Rent the original. If you're going to suspend your disbelief enough to believe that a massive ape could fall head-over-leathery-feet for a woman 1/10 his size, then you can do without the special effects._

**Before that, I just rant about how it's too long and many of the character deaths confused me, as I had trouble remembering who they were. Tone down the subplots, Jackson. And don't ruin _The Lovely Bones_, lest ye be trampled and left for dead.**

Dinner was at precisely seven o'clock, just like Grandmere had said it would be. Because everything always goes according to what Clarisse Renaldo says and wants.

I can't help but think maybe my little (or not so little?) tiff with Michael was somehow orchestrated by the universal rule of everything going her way. It's like the gods _made_ me spill the beans to Michael, and _made_ me stuff up so badly.

I never planned on telling Michael about the letters! So what possessed me to do so?

Grandmere. I just know it.

But even with this little theory (her being a witch and/or being in control of the universe) I couldn't let her in on it. As far as she had to know, everything was peachy in the land of Mia and Michael and their adorable little heir. And I HAVE to maintain that image.

So at seven o'clock I sauntered down to the dining room and acted as though everything was fine.

"Mmm, this all looks so good, Grandmere," I said, smiling over at her. She merely grimaced back at me. "And it smells delicious too. I can't believe you went to the trouble of making the entire meal vegetarian."

"Actually," she said as I raised my fork to my lips. "I had Marguerite add bacon to the cheese and spinach filos."

I dropped my fork with a clatter and tried to resist dry retching. I'd been so close to putting that in my mouth!

"It just adds a little flavor. Don't you think, Michael?" She sneered at him, probably expecting him to jump to my defense.

But to her surprise (not mine), he simply smiled and finished chewing his mouthful. "Absolutely, Clarisse. It'd be wrongfully plain and boring without it. Nice call." He grinned back at her.

If I hadn't been so distracted by the small red chunks of meat in my food, I would have congratulated him on that. Despite the fact that it was a blatant jibe at me.

Instead, I just looked up from my fallen fork and smiled as best I could at him, while gently prodding his leg with my foot under the table. "Yes, well I never could convince Michael to convert to vegetarianism for me."

He poked me back and returned my sickly sweet smile. "Mia, _darling_, you know I would do _anything_ for you. But cutting out meat, well that just goes against the laws of nature. And it's not as if I refused to acknowledge your existence or anything. I just refused to deny the existence of edible animals."

I faked a laugh and avoided Grandmere's eyes, though I could feel them burning into me. "You're so funny, Michael," I said, poking him a little harder beneath the table. Time for a change of topic. "Olivia, would you like some green beans? They're very good for you."

She shook her head at me. "I'm 'lergic."

Michael raised his glass to his lips and smiled. "Letter number four," he muttered so only I could hear it, before taking a long gulp of his wine.

Damnit, of course! She's allergic to bee stings, green beans and strawberries. How could I have forgotten that? I read the letters mere weeks ago, whereas Michael wrote them years ago, and yet he remembers which letter said what.

I smiled again, putting the beans down. "Sorry, sweetie, I forgot for a minute. Here, have some corn. It's grown right here at Miragnac; the best in the country, right, Grandmere? Michael, can I see you outside for a minute?"

"We're in the middle of a meal, Amelia!" barked Grandmere as I pulled Michael out of his chair by his collar.

"We'll only be a minute. I just forgot to tell Michael something important earlier."

She barked something else at me but I didn't hear because we were already outside the door.

"What," I demanded once we were actually outside the front door. "Is your problem?"

"What the heck do you think my problem is?" he cried, throwing his hands up in frustration. "You come back into my life and you make everything seem like it's going to be okay. But do you have any idea how long I waited for you to come home? Years, Mia! YEARS. And then you finally did. My little girl had her mommy back. And it took a while, but you convinced me that this was what you wanted. That WE were what you wanted."

He turned around from me and walked to the railing. I thought this was my cue to speak, to tell him that it IS what I want, but he kept going.

"And then you tell me that you really did only come back for Olivia. No wait, for your _heir_..."

"I never said that," I interjected.

"You didn't have to. I could hear it without you actually saying it. You only read my letters when they suited you. It didn't matter at the time when I wrote them, when I was completely losing my mind. We didn't matter to you then. But as soon as you wanted something from us, they seemed important enough to read. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?"

"I'm sorry," I offered up, not feeling like my apology, though totally genuine, held much weight.

"It doesn't matter anymore now, does it? Even if I wanted to I couldn't take Olivia back to New York. You'd have the royal Genovian army on my ass the second I got out the gates. We wouldn't stand a chance. And I have only myself to blame, for believing that somewhere inside of you is the girl I fell in love with. The girl who would never treat her daughter like something that can be bartered. Well, congratulations, Amelia Renaldo, you got what you wanted...you always get what you want."

With one last look he turned and walked down the steps. And I watched with mute disbelief as he sat in the rose garden and hung his head in his lap.

"Amelia!" rang Grandmere's cheerful soprano from the dining room. "It's certainly been long enough!"

Michael didn't move an inch. I thought briefly about joining him on the bench—somehow making him believe that I wasn't the evil whore he seemed to be envisioning.

Grandmere called again, her tone even sharper. "Amelia, won't you join us?"

I gulped, taking a few steps closer to Michael.

He did look up this time, but didn't say anything.

"I…I…" I stammered, unable to meet his gaze. My heels stuck in the damp grass.

His expression as hard to read, especially from the slanted angle I had. He scooted over on the bench, but just as I was wriggling my shoes loose, Grandmere appeared in the doorway.

"Dessert," she said coldly, "is being served. I'm afraid I must insist you join us."

I turned back reluctantly. "Coming, Grandmere."

As I hobbled back towards the open French doors, I could've sworn Michael sighed behind me.

- - -

Pretty little Aurora pricks her pretty little finger on a not-so-attractive spinning wheel. With a pretty little gasp, her pretty little eyelids flutter and her pretty little ass crashes to the ground. Then Aurora slips into a pretty little slumber for all of fifteen minutes. Before the crusties can even gather in the corners of her pretty little sapphire eyes, the handsome prince has valiantly come to her aid—which, conveniently, happens to be a bed with a hot broad whose snoozing parents are halfway across the palace.

Wanna know what happens when I wake up? Being of royal blood myself, you might think I routinely arise from my siestas with a delectable piece of man candy patiently waiting for me to stop watching the movies on the inside of my eyelids.

But no, in my little fairy tale, the whiny quasi-prince interrupts his fair lady's dozing by banging around unnecessarily and harrumphing every two seconds.

I squinted through the darkness, finding it hard to remember yesterday's events when it was two in the morning and Michael was pissing me off. "What the hell are you doing?"

He merely grunted. Real cute.

I rubbed my eyes furiously, still trying to get a handle on things. Michael was definitely still pissed, that's for sure. And he had every right to be. All those things he said were…well, true. I know I like to bitch about Michael and his ever-present stupidity, but I couldn't help but agree with what he said earlier.

Except when he said I didn't want them. It wasn't even a matter of Olivia being the heir to the throne or whatever any more. And I didn't just see Michael as "my jerky ex who just had to tag along for the ride."

I needed them for…well, _them_.

But Michael seemed to have other things in mind. "You're leaving?" I asked weakly, watching as he tossed an undershirt onto the growing pile of clothes on my floor. The clothes he had unpacked just a few hours earlier, back when we were whispering nice things to each other and envisioning how to get around the next trick Grandmere pulled—just as long as we got to stay together.

"Yeah," he snapped. "I taught you how to divide fractions and you taught me how to pack up and go. Even trade, I think."

"You—you can't leave!" I stammered, sitting up straight. "What about Olivia?"

He faltered for about a nanosecond before folding his hands up beneath his chin in mock contemplation. "Hmm, let's see. I stick around…you'll be thinking about yourself…your grandmother will be thinking up ways to make a sweet little girl into…well, you. And I will be pushed aside to let the upper class through."

"Michael, you know…what'll Olivia say when you're not here? You're her father. You can't just walk out like this. She needs you!"

He kicked the bed frame—once—twice—"Dammit, Mia! Are you that thick? Do you think I'm wanted here? Is your grandmother gonna honestly be all, 'Oh, okay, Michael. Since you know so much about etiquette and shit, why don't you instruct your daughter? I think you did a real snazzy job of it already.' _You _were the one who left. I stayed, and what does that get me? Why, I get another princess that I'll never see." He made to kick the bed again, but his leg swung out into thin air. "I fucking _hate _royalty."

Seeing Michael lose his marbles like this was completely unsettling. This was way different when he broke down that last night at the beach house. He let me comfort him then. Nothing I could say right now would ease his nerves.

"Look, Michael," I whispered, though the whole palace had probably already been awakened by Michael's sudden bout of Tourette's. "Just tell me what you want. Anything—I'll give it to you. I want you here, and I want you to be happy."

He seemed to contemplate this for a second. At any rate, he stopped kicking things. "I want," he began, breathing heavily, "for Olivia to abdicate. Or whoever has to do it for her. She'll come back to New York with me. No royalty. Can you do that?"

"Michael…" The catch in my throat made it all the more difficult to say what I had to. "Would you really be happy like that?"

"It worked for six years. Why stop now?"

"You'd be happy," I clarified, "without me?"

For a second, I'd like to think Michael let down his guard. "It's not really an option," he said, his voice so low that I had to strain to catch it. But I definitely heard him.

I tossed aside my sheets and walked over to him slowly, taking a deep breath. "Just…just stay tonight. Please? We'll talk about this tomorrow. And if you do leave—"

"I _am _leaving," he muttered.

"Right. And I want you and Olivia to have a proper goodbye." He opened his mouth, probably to start up that jazz about me always getting my way, but I kept on going. "That's what you want too."

Still breathing hard, he stared at me for a moment or two. I tried to read his expression, but to no avail. There was absolutely nothing there. Not that Michael's dense. He's just not about to open up to me right now.

"Do you wanna sleep in Olivia's room?" I offered kindly.

But he shook his head. "I…I need to think about some things."

He'd never be able to leave if he were at her side. I guess he knew this too.

Fully aware that Michael wasn't about to share a bed with me right then, I led him down the hall to where Rene usually stays.

And—unwelcome as always—Rene was already burrowed deep underneath the covers, humming what sounded frighteningly like vintage Celine.

I shook him awake while a bemused Michael stood to the side.

At last he shot up, kicking away his sheets to reveal leopard manties.

Michael stated it best. "Ew."

"Hmm, who's there?" mumbled Rene, oblivious to our gagging.

"Get up. Michael needs your bed."

Shaking his head roughly, he propped himself up on one tanned elbow and looked back and forth between us. "When did you get here?"

"This afternoon. Now why don't you go bother one of the maids? I'm sure they'd love your get-up."

"They already do," he assured me, sitting up. "Now why am I being robbed of my bed whenever Michael can just shack up with you? Your grandmother told me all about it. Nice going!"

The moment Rene stood up to give me a congratulatory pat on the shoulder, Michael slipped around him and flopped onto the bed, rolling over to the middle as he drew the sheets up to his chin. Clear indication that he wanted to be left alone.

Though I must say Grandmere wasn't entirely wrong in thinking that Michael isn't the best choice for an etiquette coach.

"Come on," I said, pulling Rene out into the hallway. Closing the door behind me, I turned to face him, wishing he had at least pulled on some shorts. Rene's a little too proud of his "thunder."

"Why aren't you in there with Mr. Friendly? You can tell me, Mia. Has he…lost the ability?"

"Eww! No!" I squeaked, putting my hands over my eyes for no particular reason. Oh, yeah, Rene's prominent manhood. "We're…having a difference of opinions. Just…do this favor for me. And don't ask any more questions. It's waaaay too complicated."

His attention was already away from my little problems, though. I'd never been scandalous enough to hold his focus. "Can I see Olympia again?"

"_Olivia_."

"Right, I'm going to teach her how to play seven-card stud. I figure these will be our times. During the day, Clarisse can coach her in all that fancy-schmancy stuff, and at night, her Uncle Rene will teach her some real life skills."

"You're _not _her uncle, and she's sound asleep. The corruption will have to wait till a decent hour."

"And here I was, thinking Michael would bring back the fun in you. But he seems pretty boring now too."

I struggled to remember a time when Michael was the lively party animal Rene seemed to have in mind.

"I'm going to bed," I told him. "And thanks."

He waved me off. "Don't say another word. I'll fall asleep in the middle of the hall."

One day, I hope to meet a guy who isn't intent on deflating my self-esteem on a regular basis. But this seems just as likely as my Sleeping Beauty fantasy—which would probably only occur today with the help of a roofie.

**So there really will be a happy ending. Mia will atone for her sins, as will Mr. Moscovitz, Rene will learn how to "shape his junk" without the aid of Lycra, and Grandmere and Joseph will NOT get it on. A toast to that--via review.**


	26. To Whom It May Concern

**How was your Christmas? Mine was pretty cool, as far as Christmases go. One of my best presents was FINALLY getting my license. Ooh, and the best movie ever--_The Gnomemobile_ (mentioned in the PD story, Bust a Cap, a rare and exotic jewel with which you should all get acquainted.)**

**Anyway, sorry once again for the wait. I've been working on something new.**

Ch. 26

After Michael left, I realized I couldn't sleep. It doesn't make sense that I've gone six years sleeping alone, and then go a few weeks with another warm body next to mine and then can't get used to being without it again. I'm a strong, independent woman! I don't need Michael snoring next to me to lull me to sleep!

But it's just...not the same. Even when he was pissed off with me earlier he was still _there_ next to me. And now he's down the hall in Rene's room, probably sleeping perfectly fine without me.

I'm never going to sleep with this nagging though running through my mind. Maybe I should just find someone else to snuggle up with...Though who am I going to find at three am?

- - -

I opened my eyes the next morning to see Michael staring down at me.

"What are you doing?" he asked. His tone wasn't gruff or angry like it had been yesterday. But it wasn't warm and welcoming either, like I've come to expect it to be in the mornings.  
"I _was_ sleeping," I stated, rubbing my eyes and yawning. "But now I'm awake."

"I mean, what are you doing sleeping _here_?" He frowned at me.

I looked over at Olivia's sleeping form lying next to me and shrugged. "I was lonely."

His expression softened for a second. "Well, do you mind? I'd like to spend at least a few hours with her before I leave."

As carefully as I could, I hopped out of the bed and stood up. "Sure. Take all the time you need."

Without looking over my shoulder as Michael whispered in Olivia's ear to wake her up, I padded barefoot down the hall to my own room and ran into Rene on the way.

"Where'd you sleep last night?" I asked him, yawning at the same time.

He glanced shiftily down the hallway before motioning with his hand for me to follow him into my room. He shut the door behind us.

"What's going on?" I asked. If it'd been anyone else acting this weirdly, I'd be a little worried. But Rene's always been weird.

His eyes flitted around the room quickly, as if what he was about to say was so top secret the maids couldn't hear it. "He's leaving," he said finally.

"Who?" I asked. "You mean Michael? I know he is."

He frowned again. "You mean you're okay with it? I was expecting you to hit the roof! I mean, I know I've never exactly liked the guy, but he's Olympia's dad, and he's like, your soulmate or whatever you used to call him. You're just going to let him leave?"

I sighed and looked at the floor. "I have no choice. He doesn't want to stay and fight for us, and I can't force him to...Hey, how'd you find out he's leaving? Was he mumbling in his sleep again?"

Rene shook his head. "After you went to bed last night, I went into see him. I was worried about you, and your boyfriend sleeping in another room wasn't making sense. So I bugged him about it until he threw the pillow at me and told me the whole story."

"And what exactly did he say?"

"His words were choked, he didn't really want to be telling me any of it. But I got out of him that he thinks you think you're too good for him, and that you never had faith in the relationship. He said he didn't want to chase someone who thought like that, because there was no point."

Yeah, no point at all. After all, it's only his daughter he's losing by not 'fighting' for me. Not that he has to fight in the first place! Well, we have to fight Grandmere, but he doesn't have to fight me!

I shook my head. "I don't feel that way, and I never have. _I'm _not the one who cheated."

"He mentioned that. But according to Michael, it was only because he thought you guys were basically over."

"We weren't!" I insisted. "And besides, that didn't give him the right to just…just act like I didn't exist. I mean, I was still his girlfriend."

"He said that too," said Rene sagely. Jeeez. If Michael has an answer for everything, then why aren't we together? Was the answer to his peace of mind getting me out of the picture? "But you've got to admit, Mia, you didn't exactly shower him with affection."

"How do you know that?" I snapped.

"Because he told me. Besides, I saw you at the palace in Genovia all the time. If you loved him like you say, then why were you always leaving?"

Who does Rene think he is anyhow? "You don't even know what you're talking about. You've never been in love."

"I've seen a lot of movies," he replied easily. "But it doesn't take a genius to figure you two out." Yeah, I dated a genius for eight years and look how that turned out. "Obviously, Mia, you weren't ready to commit to Michael full-time. So you freaked out, especially with a baby in the picture."

He was so wrong. On all counts! What makes him think I got cold feet? You don't get cold feet after spending that many years with one person. Since when have I been scared to be with Michael? I mean, sure, I had been mortified about what he might do if he knew I loved him, but that was before I knew how he felt. Before he proved to me time and time again that we were completely made for one another.

"I did have princess things to do," I said uncomfortably. "This isn't all my fault, you know. It's just as much his problem. _He's _the one who can't accept me. And I don't think of myself as better than him, not at all! It was hard for me to walk away, and I couldn't deal with the letters. He just doesn't want to understand."

"What letters?"

"Michael wrote me letters once a year, telling me about life without me and how Olivia was faring. But I didn't read them until recently, and he feels that I only read them because I needed to. Like I needed them for my 'plan' to work. But I don't have a plan, Rene. None of this was supposed to happen this way!"

"Have you spoken to him about all this? Have you told him exactly how you feel?"

"He won't listen!" I said, nearly on the brink of tears. "He can be really stubborn sometimes, and once he has an idea in his head, nothing and no one can change it."

"So why don't you do what he did then?"

"Leave?" I asked slowly. "No, I did that already, and I'm still paying for it."

"No, no," interjected Rene. "I mean, why don't you write him a letter? Tell him everything in it. And if he wants to leave without ever reading it, then so be it. But at least you tried. Just like he did with his letters."

I stared at him, not believing that I can get such a straight forward pep talk from the cousin who is known for his infidelity with women, and who hasn't had a long term relationship since... Well, ever. When did he get so smart? He's like Dr. Love.

"Thanks, Rene. I might do just that."

He reached out and gave me a hug. "No worries. Like I said, I don't particularly like the guy, but Olympia needs her dad. And you need your soul mate."

"Olivia," I corrected.

"Who?"

I smiled. "Never mind."

- - -

While Michael took Olivia to the beach to build sandcastles, I wrote his letter.

Well, I should actually say letters, since I wrote about a hundred of them. And by the time I had the letter perfect, the room was scattered with balls of paper.

But at least I had a letter for him. I reread it one last time, and then sealed it in an envelope, with a Genovian crest wax seal. I'd just laid it on my bed when Grandmere crashed through my door without knocking.

"Oh, Amelia, hello. I wasn't expecting you to be here since I saw the boy and Olivia leave a little while ago. How come you're not with them?"

I ignored her question and instead asked her one myself. "If you didn't expect me to be here then what did you come for?"

She raised an eyebrow at me and took a second to answer, as if she was trying to think up an excuse.

"Well, I wanted to see if you had a dress all picked out for tomorrow night, of course."

"Why do I need a dress for tomorrow night?"

"Your father's coming down, along with Sebastiano and the rest of the family. We're welcoming Olivia to the family."

I took note of the fact she didn't include Michael in the 'welcoming' part, even though she still thinks he's staying.

"That's a nice idea, Grandmere, but I don't think any of us are quite ready for a party or anything. And you know how Olivia is around new people, she's so shy."

"All the more reason to get her acquainted with everyone early."

I sighed. "I guess."

"Good. Well dinner will be at seven tonight, like always. Please be prompt."

With that, she turned and walked from the room.

- - -

Olivia and Michael returned about fifteen minutes before dinner. I'd spent the entire afternoon pacing my bedroom, waiting for him to come in to get his bags.

And when he finally did, I almost couldn't give it to him.

"Have fun at the beach?" I asked awkwardly.

"Sure. We always have fun. And she had no idea it was the last time we'd be hanging out, so she wasn't as if she was crying uncontrollably or anything."

"So when are you going to tell her?"

He looked at me for the first time since he walked in the room. "When the time is right."

"So you're not leaving tonight?"

He shook his head. "I rang the airport. There's a flight at noon tomorrow, and I'm on it."

I nodded my head. "I see...Look, I have something for you."

"My sanity? I seem to have left that in New York."

"Very funny," I snapped, picking up the letter and nervously jiggling it in my hands. "It's a letter."

"Ah, a letter, huh? I didn't think you were a fan of letters."

"Would you just shut up and read it? Or...If you don't want to hear what I have to say, then you can file it away for another six years and then drag it out. You can do whatever you like with it, just take it." I handed it to him and then realized that I couldn't be around to see if he actually read it or put it to one side. Or ya know, threw it in the fire. "I'm heading down to dinner. Grandmere'll kill me if I'm late."

He looked up from the letter and there was something in his eyes. Something I couldn't quite place. "Right. Well, you wouldn't want to make Grandmere unhappy."

With one last look at him, and at the letter in his hand, I ran from the room.

**What does the letter say? What will _Michael _say? What will Michael _do? _And of course, the most prevalent question of all--what would Uncle Jesse do?**

**Reviews boost the creative process! And feed kids in China. I swear.**


	27. Magical or Something

**Happy New Year!**

Ch.27

He didn't come down to dinner.

He's not here. He's sitting upstairs somewhere, basically holding my heart in his hand. And okay, maybe this is taking the metaphor just a bit too far—but what if he completely hates me for everything I wrote? He probably doesn't wanna hear that I haven't slept with anyone since him. And I so doubt that he cares about how much I sobbed on that flight away from him.

Because it doesn't matter to him that I'm ready _now_. I should've been fully prepared to be Olivia's mother whenever I gave birth to her!

I can't believe I gave him the letter. Not one thought I poured onto that page will convince him that I'm not a complete ditz. But how does one go about conveying a mature, motherly image in writing when one can't even do that in PERSON?

Olivia was sitting across the table from me, swinging her legs back and forth and looking bemused.

"Olivia!" said Grandmere imperiously from her spot at the head of the table. "No elbows on the table!"

Her cheeks took on a slightly pinkish hue as she mumbled, "Sorry."

"No need to apologize," said Grandmere with a have of her hand. "Just don't let it happen again."

"Okay," whispered Olivia. I guess I had gotten used to her bubbly, sweet side, because it was odd to see her retreat to being shy.

Grandmere didn't pick up on the nasty affect she was having, though. She just kept getting worse. "Your Highness," she said sharply. "You refer to me as 'Your Highness.'"

I chose this opportunity to leap in. "Grandmere," I said through gritted teeth. "Do you honestly expect my daughter to treat you like some goddess? We're all family." I turned to Olivia. "You can call her Grandmere, like I do." And hopefully not "conniving witch," as Michael had referred to her.

Olivia nodded, fidgeting with her napkin. "Can I go up to bed?" she whispered to me.

Grandmere overheard, though, and answered before I could say a thing. "Really now! You do not just leave the table before the cheese course. Honestly, Amelia, you would think she had been raised by barbarians." She paused for a moment, her lips twitching. "Oh, yes, I had forgotten about her father."

Olivia looked close enough to tears already, so I leaned towards Grandmere to whisper my next words. "You'll have to get used to Michael, Grandmere. Because, like it or not, I love him…and…and nothing you say will change that. He's going to be around for a while."

"Then where is he now?" she asked, the barest hint of a smile on her lips.

I opened my mouth, but couldn't find the right words. Anything I thought of hinted at the fact that Michael planned to hightail it out of there the first chance he got.

But after a few seconds' of incoherent stammering, I found my answer.

"Hey, Mia," said Michael easily, sliding into the seat across from me. He threw a grin Olivia's way and then turned his smile towards Grandmere. "Clarisse, you look lovely this evening. And this food!" He slurped up a spoonful of soup. "Divine."

Grandmere seemed just as shocked as I was, but I composed myself as she looked my way. "Mr. Moscovitz," she said, employing a sickeningly sweet tone. "Do you mind explaining your absence for the greater part of the meal?"

"Just getting ready," said Michael, tugging at his collar. And he _did _look nice. Combed hair, crisply ironed button-down, and a _tie_.

And I thought I was the surprising one.

But no explanation for his sudden enthusiasm was given to me until after all the plates were cleared and Grandmere had come as close to storming off as Grandmere has ever done.

"Ready for bed, pumpkin?" said Michael, holding his hand out to Olivia.

As she slid her fingers into his, he wrapped his other arm around her waist and scooped her up into his arms. "Daddy, you smell funny," she giggled.

"Well, that's a nice thing to say."

"Is that aftershave?" I asked, catching a big whiff of him as we turned the corner.

His cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink. "It might be."

"That's nice," I laughed, blushing as well. He's wearing AFTERSHAVE! Who else would he wear aftershave for if not me? It doesn't even matter that he probably shouldn't have put _that _much—it's the thought that counts.

I felt oddly comfortable. After all the worrying and freaking out I'd done while writing the letter, and even after I gave it to him…it just seemed like things might work out now.

We paused outside the door to Olivia's room. "I'm gonna get her ready for bed," said Michael in a slightly apologetic tone.

"Yeah, okay. I'll come with you."

His grin widened as he followed Olivia and me inside.

"He's being goofy," said Olivia in a conspiratorial whisper while he drew the bathwater.

"I agree," I laughed. I couldn't shake the giddiness out of me either. He hadn't exactly said anything about the letter—but I couldn't help but rejoice at his presence…his smile…his fingertips brushing against mine…

I sat on the toilet lid while Michael helped Olivia shampoo. "She doesn't like to lean back into the water by herself." He shuddered. "I don't blame her."

"Watch it, Dad!" she cried, frantically rubbing at her eyes.

"Ah! Sorry, Liv."

I watched them, wondering if this is how our nights would be from now on. So…so…family-like.

Michael tucked in Olivia and lay down on top of the covers beside her. "Come on, Mia," he said, noticing me backed up against the wall.

Okay, here's my chance. Act _kindly_. _Parental. _Yet at the same time, exude sex. If Michael can do it, I can!

"Are you okay?" asked Michael, eyeing me strangely.

I scaled down the swagger in my hips. "Who me? I'm fine. How are you?"

"Never better," said Michael after a moment. Sated, I lay down beside him.

Another hint that he was not thoroughly disgusted by my letter? The way he put his arm around me protectively as he began story-time with Olivia.

"So, there was this Jedi," Michael began, not looking at either of us, "and for a long, long time, he was wicked pissed at the princess. See, he was under the impression that the princess was greedy and only wanted him for…for his light saber. Because a while back she had left him because of his…backpack. And he still had that backpack. He loved that backpack a lot, because she had given it to him, even though she had pretty much skipped out right after that. Anyway, one day the princess showed up at his door again because she needed the backpack for her country. Now the Jedi was still a little annoyed with the princess because she had never returned any of the messages he sent her through R2D2. But he knew that she needed the backpack, so he and the backpack went with her to her country and worked pretty hard at forgiving her."

He drew a breath, while I was holding mine. "The Jedi couldn't help being a little…short with the princess. Partly because she was so tall. But in all the time he was spending with her, he kinda realized that maybe he'd been wrong, and maybe she wasn't so awful. Before he could get too settled, though, he started to worry that she didn't like the backpack as much as he liked the backpack. It was really important to the Jedi that anyone he was gonna…feel a lot of things about should be on the same wavelength when it came to his backpack. He knew that he couldn't take the backpack while the princess needed it, though. But as he wasn't really needed, he decided he was gonna head out. Until R2D2 showed up with a message from the princess.

"R2D2 made the Jedi feel more than a little stupid, which wasn't a feeling he was used to. It turned out the princess was just his big bundle of nerves. She just didn't tell the Jedi any of this because she thought that he didn't care, because he didn't want anything to do with her country. And though this may have been true at one point, well, the Jedi just wants the princess to know that any animosity between him and her principality is easily remedied with her love. Because it's magical or something. The End."

Olivia was the one to break the tense silence. "Dad," she said slowly, looking up at his damp eyes, which were locked with mine.

"Hmmm?"

"That story kinda sucked."

Even I joined in on the laughter, my heart swelling all the while. Michael stood, pulling me to my feet. I bit my lip in anticipation. "I'll have to think of a better one for you for tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night?" I asked, still holding his hand.

He nodded.

I'll have to disagree with Olivia. That may be the best bedtime story I've ever heard.


	28. Hakuna Matata

**Man, I am really, really sorry, you guys. I keep meaning to update sooner, but just when things die down, it all gets hectic again. The good news is...the story's almost over. And there's no big cliffhanger ending or whatever. I'm pretty sure you'll all be satisfied. Except for the idiots getting all up in arms about this world peace business. Lay off, why dontcha? **

**Anyway, it's a few more chapters by my count. Enjoy!**

I have always maintained that orderly rooms are only maintained by super-boring people. The rest of us just have a bit too much edge on the palate to worry about smooth bedspreads or visible desktops.

Which is why it was always such a pain in my ass when Mr. G went on one of his OCD jags and freaked when he say the "chaotic state" of my room. Usually to calm the waters, I'd just toss a few things in my closet, stuff all my shoes under the bed, and strategically place stacks of books and movies all around so as to hide the mess beneath them.

So when I was packing to move in with Michael for the first time, I had the eerie sensation of entering a thrift shop where they were selling my life. Thanksgiving placemats I'd made in preschool…dozens upon dozens of jump ropes…photographs detailing my "awkward years" (read: 3rd to 9th grade)…

I'd been instructed by Michael to pack lightly, as we weren't exactly renting the Taj Mahal. But looking through all the massive pile at my feet, I couldn't even begin to distinguish between the "junk" and the mementos. The glow-in-the-dark retainer I'd abhorred when I was nine suddenly became more precious than any trinket Grandmere had ever presented me with. It was a ton of baggage, sure…but getting rid of it—even the tiniest bits—was impossible…and I didn't really mind (I can't say the same for Michael.)

Almost ten years later and three thousand miles away, I was thrown back into the exact same mindset.

Michael closed my bedroom door behind us and turned slowly to face me. "Well, then," he murmured, looking me over with something a bit more than nostalgia in his expression.

"Have you brushed your teeth yet?" I asked squeakily, taking a few rapid steps in the opposite direction. "'Cuz I haven't brushed my teeth."

"Right…teeth," said Michael, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. As I walked into the bathroom, I could hear him mutter, "Forkin' oral hygiene."

As I stood in front of the mirror, methodically swirling the toothbrush against my gums, Michael's reflection stood stock-still behind me, giving me a creepy flashback to a game Lilly and I used to play during third grade sleepovers. It's called "Bloody Mary," I think. You lock yourselves in the Moscovitzes' bathroom, then Lilly flushes the toilet over and over again while whispering a sepulchral chant of "Bloody Mary…Bloody Mary…" as you spin around ten times, then BOOM.

Bloody Mary.

In the mirror.

With a gun.

That's right about the time you shriek hysterically, jiggling the locked doorknob as tears stream down your cheeks, and then by the time you get the stupid thing open, Michael's already standing in the hallway, smirking cheekily and saying, "You'd think the horror would die down by the twelfth time."

Present-Michael didn't have a gun or anything, though. And if Bloody Mary had ever wrapped her arms around me protectively, I doubt I would given her a toothpastey grin in return.

"You're shivering," said Michael. "Cold?"

"Just a bit," I whispered.

His grip on my waist grew tighter, and as his lips descended to my neck, I felt my shoulders relax. He was definitely still Michael. My Michael. And absolutely nothing was in our way now.

"It's just—" I could see Michael's own shoulders droop as I wriggled out of his grasp, though I doubt it was out of relief. "Well, what's my grandmother going to say?"

"I thought we didn't care about that."

"We can't just ignore it, though…can we? I mean, Grandmere doesn't really bode well with ignorance."

"No."

I watched him in the mirror as he stared determinedly back. "No what? No, we can't ignore it? No…my grandmother is an attention whore?"

"No," said Michael again. "More like 'no, we're not gonna worry.' Hakuna matata."

"Hakuna matata?" I echoed laughingly. "So I'll just forget about it for a while until Grandmere and I duel to the death atop Pride Rock."

"It means no worries," sang Michael softly, stepping towards me again. I turned around to face him. "For the rest of your days…our days. And we've got a lot of those, if I'm not mistaken."

With his hand in mine? Those eyes on mine? Mine…mine…mine…

All baggage forgotten, I pressed myself against every little inch of Michael.

Hakuna matata.

- - -

I'm sure there was a smile on my face because I woke up the next morning feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. And still smiling.

"Morning," Michael mumbled, kissing my collarbone from behind.

"Morning," I replied, rolling over so I could see his face. See that he was really there.

"What's on the agenda for today?"

"Well...I think we need to spend a little quality 'family' time together. Maybe we can head out to the beach? I'll see if my swimming lessons have sunken in yet."

"The only thing sinking in might be me, ya know."

"Are you saying I'm that bad a teacher?"

"No, I'm just saying I'm that bad a swimmer." He stopped to kiss me on the cheek. "You're an excellent teacher."

"Nice save," I mocked. "So we'll head out to the beach, and then be back in time to get ready for the party."

"Uh, party? What party?" he asked, looking a little stressed.

"Oh, right. I forgot to tell you. Grandmere's arranged a family get together to welcome Olivia...and you...into the family."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "The party is to welcome me? I don't think so, Mia. You may be a good teacher, but you suck at lying. I bet I'm not even invited, am I?"

"Of course you are!" I exclaimed, struggling for some convincing words. But he's right, I suck at lying. "Okay, so maybe it's more to introduce Olivia to my dad, since he's been out of the country since we've been here, but it's also a welcoming thing."

"Yeah, for Liv. Not for me." He hopped out of the bed. "I think it's probably best if I skip the event."

"But, but you can't! Michael, I need your support. If you don't turn up, then Grandmere's going to think you don't want to be part of the family! She'll just have more power!"

He looked down at me and I tried my best to turn on my doe eyes. They begged 'please.'

Obviously they still work. He flopped down on the bed again and kissed me briefly. "All right. If it means that much to you, I'll be there. I'll put on a suit, clean up, and play the doting boyfriend."

"Thank you," I said sincerely, kissing him gently on the side of his neck. "It means a _lot_ to me."

- - -

After a fun day of building sand castles and watching Michael struggle to stay afloat in the sea (Olivia's doing much better than him; she's totally mastered the doggy paddle), we retreated to the house to get ready for the party.

"But I don't have anything to wear," Olivia whispered in my ear on the way up to her bedroom.

"Don't worry, I have something for you. I had it brought over this morning. It's really pretty, I'm sure you're going to love it."

"Do you have a pretty dressed all picked out for me too?" Michael snickered as Olivia scampered through the hallway.

"No, but I'm sure I can find one that'd fit you."

He looked a little worried for a second. "Maybe we'll save that for the after party."

"After party? There's no after party."

"Yes there is. It's exclusive, only two people invited. I'm one of them, and the other is standing right next to me."

"Ah, _that _after party. Right. Well then I definitely can find something for you to wear."

He grinned. "I'd better let you get her dressed then. I'll see you downstairs in half an hour?"

"Half an hour is only enough time to get her ready," I said. "Give me an hour."

"Deal."

He kissed me and ran off himself.

- - -

When I met Michael downstairs an hour and a half later (so I was a little late, big deal) he let out a long whistle.

"Is that directed at me or Olivia?" I asked, grinning down at Liv.

"Oh, sorry, sweetie, that was directed at your mommy. But you look beautiful too. I like your dress."

"It's itchy," she muttered, tugging at the waist.

"You'll get used to it," a voice announced from the dining room door. "Most beautiful clothes are uncomfortable."

Olivia scrunched her nose up and I felt like doing the same thing. "Good evening, Grandmere."

"No time for pleasantries. Inside. Now. You're late."

Michael raised his eyebrows and I shrugged. "Let's go." I linked my arm in his and grabbed Olivia's hand. If this is a family dinner party, then why not enter with my family?

"Dad!" I cried when I saw him. I haven't seen him since I went to New York to get Olivia.

"Hello, darling," he greeted, beaming at me as he hugged me.

"Michael, good to see you again," he said, extending his hand to Michael. Michael gladly shook it. He's never really had a problem with Dad, mainly just Grandmere. "And who's this little angel?"

"Olivia, this is your grandfather. Dad, this is Olivia."

"You make me sound so old, Mia. You can call me anything you want to, Olivia. Preferably not grandfather."

She nodded and refrained from scooting behind my legs when he knelt down to her level. She even smiled at him when he commented on how pretty she looked in her dress, and how much she looked like me.

"Come on," Grandmere hustled, probably hating the fact that Dad was making more progress with Olivia in two minutes than she has at all. "We don't have time to dilly- dally."

- - -

As part of Grandmere's welcoming dinner, she was going to start off by introducing Olivia to everyone. And I knew this introduction wasn't going to include Michael.

So I pulled her into the back room just seconds before she stepped up to the podium.

"What is it, Amelia? I'm about to make the speeches."

"I know, I just want to make sure that you're going to include Michael in them. After all, you should be welcoming him just as much as Olivia."

"I will do no such thing. At least Olivia has royal blood in her. That boy has nothing. And the sooner you realize this, the better. He's no good, and you need to get rid of him. He will never be part of the family."

Feeling like I'd been slapped in the face, I just stared at her open-mouthed for a good minute. "And when are you going to get it, Grandmere? He's not going anywhere! There's nothing you can do that'll make him leave and you're just going to have to accept that."

"I will accept nothing of the sort. Now, how do I turn this damn microphone on?"

She indicated to the small microphone attached to her dress front and pulled out the controller. I glanced at it indifferently. Wait, why was that little green light blinking?

Panicking, I tapped the microphone and almost had a heart attack when I heard it echo through the speakers.

"It's already on! Everyone just heard what you said, including Michael!" I cried, after switching the power button off.

"I thought you said there was nothing I could do to get rid of him. Surely my unintentional public dig at him won't send him running." She smiled at me.

"You better hope that's true!"

With one last glance at her, I ran back into the dining room to find Michael.

But all I found were open-mouthed guests. He was gone, and so was Olivia.

**Xiao chan should totally update. And reviews from all of you? Pretty please?**


	29. Cold Chocolate

**So this wasn't too long of a wait, was it? I wanted to update and it wasn't gonna happen any other time this weekend, so I thought now might be the best time--even though I've gotta get up in about four hours for some ridiculous quizbowl meet. Anyway, thank you all very much for the reviews. They're totally appreciated and will continue to be, especially in increasing numbers.**

My panicked footsteps took me out into the hallway; it seemed as though every part of my body was moving somehow…my head swiveling, eyes flicking back and forth, feet pounding a rapid staccato on the marble floors. Worst of all was my heart, hammering a bleak rhythm against my satin gown, like the gun salute at a military funeral. A perfect ending to my rather militant relationship with Michael.

_Oh, please, _I thought, my inner monologue choking up though my cheeks remained dry. _It can't be the end. How can so much effort be put into absolutely nothing? Have I just been opening my heart to a black hole? _

After all that's happened…after everything we said! He can't just let _Grandmere's_ opinion send him running. I can understand if she had said, "Ladies and gentlemen, for this evening's entertainment, I present to you…Linkin Park."

But honestly! Michael already _knows _how Grandmere feels about him. Besides, that's really not what matters here. Surely, he knows that. If I relied on Grandmere for consorts, I'd totally be the beard of some distant cousin by now. Yeeeesh.

All I know is I'm not about to let him go now. "Michael!" I called, a slight hint of desperation slipping into my tone. "Michael, where are you?"

He can't have been gone too long, can he? Not enough time has passed for him to angrily toss his clothes into the suitcase, grab Olivia, and head out the back door. Definitely not enough time for him to consider that he might be doing the wrong thing. That maybe I was telling the truth when I told him nothing would get in the way this time.

I blinked rapidly, surprised to find tears gathering in the corners of my eyelids. I need him. God, do I need him.

And if he takes Olivia…well, that's it then. I can't do this. It's not even about the heir issue any more. They're my family. Every time Grandmere bullies me into attending another fundraiser or struggling into another ball gown, she hammers it into my brain that family always comes first.

Of course, Clarisse and I aren't exactly on the same page about which relatives come first. But if it came down to it…if I had to choose…well, there was no choice.

"Moscovitz," I whispered to myself, trying out the sound of it. "Mia Moscovitz. Mr. and Mrs. Michael Moscovitz. Michael, Mia, and their daughter Olivia. Of course I'll be at the PTO meeting! I wouldn't miss it for the world. Ah, you might think it gets boring spending night after night in that dingy little apartment with the stuffing coming out of the couch and leaks everywhere you look…but that's how we like it."

"Oh, is it?" said a voice in my ear.

I jumped, not even bothering to turn around. "How long have you been there for?"

He wrapped his arms around my waist, resting a scruffy chin on my shoulder. "Long enough…Mrs. Moscovitz."

"Hallucinations," I explained weakly, pulling my shoes back on. "I had a few mushroom caps. Always told Grandmere that delivery guy was a shady character."

Michael let go of me. I turned to see him standing stiffly with his hands stuffed into his tuxedo pockets. "Don't mention her right now."

"Michael, look—" I clung to his blazer, hoping he couldn't hear every ounce of the desperate urgency that seemed to be oozing into my voice. "Grandmere's always been a bitch. That hasn't changed. So why should we change? I still love you. And I—well, if you're up to it, I'm willing to give it a shot—even if you're not, I still want to. I'll go anywhere. Just please…don't go."

His crinkly grin faltered into confusion. "Go where?"

I gestured vaguely down the hallway, lamely adding, "Away from me."

It took him a moment to reply. "Why would I do that?"

"I just thought when you walked out—"

Michael—bipolar as always—burst into laughter and pulled me even closer to his chest. "They were all staring at me, you dork, so I stepped out. I'm not leaving this place without you. Face it, babe, you've contracted me and now you gotta live with the pain."

"It's not _all _pain," I joked.

"Hmmm," he mused. "I guess that means I care about you, doesn't it?"

"Could be inferred."

"And that I wanna start that after party right about now."

"But the party's still going. So it kind of defeats the purpose, y'know."

He squinted towards the ballroom in mock bewilderment. "A party? Without me? Clearly fooling themselves, the lot of them. It's pathetic in a way."

There's something about a reunion, even if it's based on hysterical delusions, that heightens the hilarity of your significant other's jokes to epic levels.

Michael smiled, clearly pleased with himself. "Am I wrong in taking this as a clear invitation into your…skirt thingy?"

"Not entirely," I replied coyly. But just as I was leaning in to kiss him again, the pitter-patter of footsteps caused us to jerk apart.

"There you are!" said my father. He was balancing Olivia on his hip and looking frazzled. "You've got to get back there, Mia. Everyone seems to think you're abdicating and your grandmother's not doing a thing to stop these ridiculous rumors."

"Abdicating?" I choked. "What makes them think that?"

"Probably because you ran off to find him right after your grandmother made it clear that he wasn't acceptable."

My shock quickly turned to anger, especially since my dad seemed to have no problem with talking about Michael like he wasn't even there. "Uh, I told _her _that she couldn't stop me from being with whom ever I want to be. Meaning I'm going to carry on with being a princess, just with Michael at my side. Or are you against this too?"

He seemed to wither under my glare. "Honestly, Mia, I've got nothing to say on the matter. I'll just warn you that your grandmother tends to know what's best when it comes to publicity matters."

Michael had kept his silence until then, but he spoke up. "With all due respect, I'm not going to embarrass your family. I don't really have any intention of getting my face in the paper."

My father gave a short, humorless laugh. "Good luck, son," he said, patting Michael on the shoulder.

It wasn't until my dad was halfway down the hall that Michael spoke again. "Does that mean I'm in?"

"I thought you didn't have to worry about being 'in.' You're not here to be with my family, are you?"

"What do you think?"

"I think," I giggled, as I was wont to do around him, "that _I'm _the one concerned with family. Our family."

"Our family," he echoed, leaning towards me once more.

- - -

My dad expected me to go calm the nerves of the partygoers, but seriously. Wouldn't my continued presence at the castle be enough?

I'm assuming Michael will be here with us. Me and Olivia, that is. What would happen if our relationship were to end again? As of now, technically, we are just boyfriend and girlfriend. Even under the contract of matrimony, anything can happen.

I just pray it doesn't.

So instead of "welcoming the new members of the family," I committed the far more humane act of taking them out for hot chocolate on the boardwalk.

"Ahh!" cried Olivia, burning her tongue on the first sip.

I knelt down beside her, dropping Michael's hand for an instant. "You've gotta remember to let it cool, otherwise the 'hot' part isn't so kind."

Her lower lip trembled. "It's gross."

"How about some cold chocolate then?"

She watched skeptically as I approached a nearby vendor and returned with a milkshake. "It is summer, after all."

Olivia gratefully slurped the drink up, choosing to giggle at us now. "Who drinks hot chocolate in July anyway? You're both sooooo weird."

Michael growled, his eyes narrowed, and swooped down to gather her up in his arms. "Daddy!" she shrieked, pounding against his back as he swung her over his shoulder. "Daddy! Let me down!"

"Who ever heard of a princess hopping off a carriage before the ride was complete? Preposterous! Silly girl, you've got much to learn."

"Daddy, I'm not kidding!" she laughed, kicking at his chest now as her flip-flops clattered to the ground.

He didn't drop her until a nearby security guard approached to see what the problem was. "Maybe I was wrong about not getting my face in the papers," he chuckled, grabbing my hand again as we continued our stroll.

- - -

Even though I'd told Michael again and again to not fret about the royal aspect of my life, he continued to work on dazzling my family. I guess it's pretty difficult to forget what I am when you're shacking up in my castle.

"The tie's not necessary," I laughed, watching as Michael attempted once again to get the knot straight.

"It's what I have to do," said Michael solemnly. "Dammit! Are all Genovian ties this tricky?"

"Oh, can you do an _American _tie?"

He shrugged. "The clip-ons, sure."

"Just get one of those, then. _Michael_, I'm telling you. You're wasting your time trying to impress my grandmother. I invited you here and she can't interfere."

He paid me no mind, though, and after a minute more of watching his shoddy primping attempts, I gave in and knotted his tie myself. And I didn't even learn that in princess lessons! I guess Grandmere expected any husband of mine to have acquired that knowledge himself.

Grandmere was still giving us the silent treatment at dinner. I, for one, was more than happy to let her continue, but others wouldn't let it alone. Who are _others_, you might ask?

Oh, none other than my boyfriend, the cause of her horrible mood.

"So, um, they say the Sox have got the World Series in the bag for the eighth straight year. But hey, I'm not complaining."

"Has anyone read _Scar Tissue_? It's by Anthony Kiedis…from the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Yeah, he's awesome."

"Those windows really do a great job of catching the last rays of sunlight as the day winds down. It's a lovely touch."

Seeing that he was seriously straining here, I put a hand on his knee. "More spinach, Michael?"

He looked down at his plate in confusion. "I didn't eat any in the first place."

Olivia stuck out her tongue.

"Or how about some—" But I was cut off.

"Is there something wrong with the spinach, boy? It's cultivated specially by farmers I picked myself over twenty years ago. Perhaps your pallet isn't prepared to handle a gourmet meal. I believe the phone book can direct you to a good McDougal's down the road."

"McDonald's?" asked Olivia, but no one answered.

"Look, Clarisse," said Michael, speaking in a slow, careful tone. "Refine _your _pallet to the fact that I'm going to be marrying your granddaughter. We might have a McDougal's built _in our room_."

"Married?" chorused the rest of the table, including me.

It seemed to occur to Michael then that you generally propose to your fiancée _before _you tell her family. "Um, yes," he said, smoothing down the front of his suit. "Yes, that is what we are doing."

My grandmother began to fan herself rapidly, rasping for a Sidecar.

"Here," whispered Michael, placing something in my lap. I glanced down at the velvet box, still far too overwhelmed to make a real fuss.

"Married?"

**Review!**


	30. Twenty Questions

**So I was on hollerday, drinking Pepsi, and listening to Weezer, when I thought to myself, "Schwartzi, wouldn't it be great if you shared all this happiness with the rest of the world?" And while I can't mail you all a copy of the first season of Growing Pains on DVD or the sci-fi thriller Phantom Town, I can update. I know, I know -- it's not quite as good as winning Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award five times in a row, as I have -- but it's a start, Harry, it's a start!**

"Married?"

He'd been pressing his face into the comforter, but grinned tiredly up at me. "Yes, Mia," he said patiently. "For the fourth time…yes, I want to get married. If we're playing twenty questions, you kind of suck."

I didn't even register this insult. It was difficult to register much after your tumultuous twelve-year relationship with a guy your family doesn't even like amounts to a sudden, totally unorthodox marriage proposal.

Which is why I really can't be blamed for my vocabulary being limited to one word for the last ten minutes.

"Why?"

"Why do you suck? Well, I don't mean to get so technical, but the game's got twenty questions, see—"

I sat beside him on the mattress, nudging him slightly to make room. "Why do you want to marry me?" I asked, my tongue feeling odd as it wormed its way around such a complicated phrase.

The mattress shifted beneath me as he rolled over, his fingers tugging the blue satin tie away from his collar. "Why not?"

"Do you realize we've been communicating in just questions for the past few minutes?"

"Are you sure?" He grinned, adorably so, and flung his now-loose tie onto the carpet.

"Mia," he stated quite firmly. "I am going to marry you. It was always gonna happen…so I figure now's as good a time as any. We're in love and, as far as I can tell, we've resolved our most pressing issues. How's that for an explanation?"

Of course it was a great explanation. Thorough, calculated, persuasively presented—Michael's public speaking skills overpowered mine by the thousands.

"You're not kidding?" I said, careful to keep the excitement out of my voice. Funny how after all we've been through these past few weeks, I still feel the need to stay on my toes with Michael Moscovitz.

"Mia, I wouldn't embarrass myself in front of your family for a good laugh—and I don't make jokes about lifetime commitments, all right?"

His hand rested on my knee and I held back the urge to jump him right then and there. At least until I'd said my piece. "OK, now I know why. But why _now_? You…you used to say that we didn't need rings. That we had enough already."

It had been his old mantra when I'd tentatively bring up the subject—and I only did so once or twice. Michael hated being reminded of my Genovian obligations, and I hated reminding him. But it didn't stop me from worrying that, no matter what he believed, Michael wouldn't be my Prince Charming till he said, "I do."

And then I didn't have to worry any more. At least not about getting Michael to marry me. Because for years and years, Michael wasn't even an option. In fact, despite all Grandmere's efforts, I didn't really have any options at all. I guess it's always kind of been "MICHAEL OR BUST" for me.

"I was stupid," Michael admitted humbly—with a strong emphasis on the 'was.' "But I'm ready for some pull-ups. I'm gonna be responsible. I'll do my duty. Whatever it takes, Mia."

"Mrs. Moscovitz," I corrected.

"Princess Moscovitz," he rejoined.

"Fair enough," I giggled, curling up beside him. Off my toes.

"That's 'fair enough, _your highness_.'"

- - -

Early the next morning I went into Grandmere's room, toting a peace offering: breakfast in bed.

I'm sure she would have preferred my word that I'd never see 'that boy' again, but hey, beggars can't be choosers.

"Morning, Grandmere," I called gently, opening her windows and placing the tray on her table. "Wake up, come on."

After a minute or so, she finally pulled herself up into a sleepy sitting position.

"Oh, Amelia, there you are. Still by my side. Thank the Lord. I had a horrible dream that you up and married that boy and joined the circus with him."

Does this mean she's forgotten about last night?

"Well no, that didn't happen. But you do remember what happened last night, right?"

In preparation for her memory to come back, and for her to hit the roof, I passed her the bacon. She's never been able to resist bacon, and has never understood how I can.

"Thank you," she said, taking a piece. "And what happened last night?"

God, she's like one of those people who block bad things from their mind, as a way of dealing with it. Or not dealing with it.

"Michael proposed," I said simply. It's probably best to just spit it out, get it over with.

"And just what did he propose?" she asked, in all seriousness.

"Um, marriage?"

She dropped her fork like a hot potato. And by the look on her face I knew it was all coming back to her.

"Oh, oh, Amelia, this wasn't at all how it was all supposed to go! No, you absolutely cannot marry him, I forbid it."

"Grandmere, you can't stop me from doing anything. I'm nearly thirty for Christ's sake! I'm not fourteen anymore. And I'm not a child. So if I want to marry Michael, then I will."

She sighed and picked up the bacon with her fork again. "I'm not happy about this, Amelia. You were supposed to go to New York and bring back an heir to the throne, not a husband as well."

"Maybe this was meant to be, Grandmere. Things happen for a reason, you know. I wasn't ready for a child six years ago, but I am now. And I'm ready for a husband as well. And at the end of the day, it doesn't matter what you say or think. I will marry him."

I walked out of her room feeling a little stronger, and a little better about things. At least now she knows how it is.

- - -

"How'd it go?" Michael asked when I walked back in our room. He was sprawled out under the sheets of the bed. I hopped in next to him and made him move over a little.

"She'd had a memory lapse. Didn't remember a thing about what happened last night. I filled her in, and told her she couldn't stop us from doing what we wanted. I'm not a child anymore, Michael."

"Hey, you don't have to convince me of that."

"The thing is though," I started, resting my cold hand on Michael's warm chest. He shivered a little at my touch. "I don't think she'll ever accept it. You, I mean. Or us. She'll never be on board with it."

"So what do you want to do about it?" he asked.

"Okay, I have an idea."

After a quick explanation of my plan, Michael grinned and kissed the top of my head. "I thought you were never going to come up with that. I thought of it weeks ago, but didn't want to say anything."

"So you agree?" I asked.

"It's perfect. Everything's going to be perfect."

- - -

After dinner that night, Michael and I approached dad about something. He hasn't gone back to the castle yet so we thought we'd better talk about it before he goes.

"You want to go on vacation?" he asked, not comprehending the word. My father hasn't had a vacation since...forever.

"Yeah. I think it's best if we get away for a while. It'll give Grandmere some time to grow accustomed to the idea of Michael. And things have been so hectic lately we need to get away."

"And you want me to throw an engagement party when you get back?"

"Well we'd have it before we go, but we really want to get going as soon as possible. Like tomorrow..."

He nodded and I knew he understood.

"You're taking Olivia?"

I nodded. "Yeah. She needs this as much as we do."

"Have you told your grandmother?"

I looked at Michael. He answered for me. "We thought it was best if this was done in secret. The vacation, I mean."

"She's not going to be happy," dad stated.

"She doesn't have a choice."

He nodded again. "You've got guts, kid. I could never hide something like this from my mother. She'd flay me."

- - -

The little chapel was absolutely gorgeous. Stained glass windows stretched from the floor to the ceiling, depicting events like the birth of Jesus and the banishment from Eden.

Michael shivered, inspecting a little portrait on the wall. "Kinda creepy, isn't it?" he said in a hushed voice, as though the weeping virgin in the painting would attack if he didn't keep his voice down.

"I think it's perfect."

His arm went around me as we headed back down the aisle, Olivia wandering around behind us, gaping at everything in sight. Tomorrow this little trek would be a lot more significant.

Michael was just so infuriatingly calm about the whole thing. I tried my best to play cool along with him, but it's one thing hinting about this to my father—it's quite another to actually go through with it.

We stepped back outside, and I took a deep breath. It was definitely easy to see why people liked to vacation in the countryside. All the tourists in New York have got it completely backwards. How are you supposed to relax with the symphony of car alarms and police sirens that fills the city night after night? Not that I don't love New York. But I'd never go there for some R&R. And I need to be as calm as possible for the task before me. "You're really not nervous at all?" I asked him.

His face, which had grown unnaturally tan over the last month, broke into a comparably blinding smile. "Why, are you?"

"Kinda," I admitted. After all the turmoil my little white lies had caused recently, I decided it was best to stick with the truth. "I mean, it's not that I don't want this. It just seems like a pretty big step, you know?"

By that time, we had reached the rental car. Olivia broke through our adjoined hands, as if we were playing Red Rover. "Shotgun!"

"I don't think so," I laughed, playfully wrestling her away from the front passenger side. She giggled, though she still frantically scrabbled for the door handle.

"There's an air bag, Liv," said Michael firmly.

With a slight scowl fixed on her impossibly cute face, she crawled into the back, her arms folded across her chest. "I'm almost as tall as Mom anyway."

"Maybe if she was standing in a ditch." He turned on the car and with it came a full blast of the Wilco CD we'd been listening to on the way over. "So what were you saying?" he asked me.

"I…I just don't want to rush things."

His white t-shirt clung almost indecently to his lean body. As long as no giggly French girls took notice, I was perfectly fine with it. They're _my _washboard abs. "If it's what we both want, Mia, I don't see how it's rushed."

Of course we both wanted this. But there was one little thought that wouldn't stop nagging at me. "But a few weeks ago, we practically hated each other—"

"Did we?" asked Michael airily.

"—and now we're getting _married? _I just think it might come as a shock to everyone."

"Elopements are supposed to cause a stir, Mia. That's one of the main attractions. Besides, this is a me and you thing. Not Clarisse. Not Rene. Not even that dumpy guy with the mole who once offered me a thousand dollars for my hair."

"You mean my great uncle Jean-Paul?"

Michael fiddled with his fringe nervously. "Yeah, he's not still around, is he?"

"Nope. Struck by lightning two years ago."

"Oh…" He made a valiant attempt at looking morose. "That's…anyway, the important thing is that we're together. That we're here with Olivia. To heck with your family."

"To heck with 'em!" called Olivia from the backseat.

The knot in my stomach loosened slightly.

**29 down...1 to go.**

**Review!**


	31. Tropical Hobo

**Sorry about the wait! I just got so caught up in school and socializing with the peeps and whatnot. The good news is, you won't have to wait any longer--because this is the end! If only J.K. Rowling would've cashed in on the buzz and "updated" this very same night. If I were her, I'd get a better Cabinet, because this is one hell of an opportunity. **

**Aw, here it goes...**

Besides the elements of surprise and independence, eloping with Michael included a kind of spontaneity that allowed me neither the time nor the opportunity to get a hold of a proper wedding gown.

Most people wear their mother's gowns. I guess it's a pretty safe bet that you'll have the right figure to fill out the dress. But the "like mother like daughter" theory goes awry when it comes to my circumstances. According to my mother, she was decked out in flip-flops and a frayed bikini when she and Mr. G tied the knot. Even if I did want to go the "tropical hobo" route, my mom couldn't exactly Fed-Ex her swimsuit over before my nuptials.

Feeling rather silly, I snuggled close to Michael under the covers whining, "What'll I _wear_?"

"When?"

I gave him a look.

"Right. Tomorrow. Um, I say you stick with the tried and true tradition of assless chaps and a leather whip."

Giggling, I clamped a hand over his mouth. "You could even go put that on right now," he said through a crack in my fingers.

"You're not allowed to see me in my outfit before the ceremony!"

I felt something wet and slimy slither across my palm.

"EWWW!" I squealed, pulling my hand away and waving it rapidly. "Did you just _lick _my _palm?_"

Michael just laughed. "It's not like my tongue hasn't touched you before."

"You're lucky Olivia's asleep."

"Why?" he teased, his fingers inching up the back of my tank top. "Don't want her to see you _blushing_?"

"No," I said primly, throwing the sheets off of me. "I just don't think seven-year-olds are too stoked to see their dad get blue balls."

"Mi-_a_!" said Michael as I went into the bathroom. Who's the one whining now?

Before I shut the door, I stuck my head out to see him giving me the ole puppy dog eyes. "Tomorrow night," I promised.

But the problem is…what will Michael be eagerly taking off of me?

- - -

Daybreak found me sitting on the edge of the tub again, drumming my fingers and praying for a miracle. Don't things ever just…fall out of the sky? Besides safes and anvils.

What'll I do if I don't find something to wear? I mean, isn't that sort of essential to the wedding? Unless Michael plans to surprise me with an excursion to some sort of nudist trailer park.

But seriously, I can't _marry _Michael without the proper clothing! What a way to kick off our marriage. No! Things have to go _perfectly_. Maybe it would've just been better to stay back in Genovia and beg for Grandmere's approval. At least she would've handled all the preparations for us.

It's too late now, though. Unless I just went back out there and asked Michael to maybe wait for a few days. I'm sure he'd completely adore that suggestion.

A sharp rap came at the door. "Mia?" mumbled Michael. "Mia, I need the bathroom. Let me in."

I unlocked the door and he stumbled inside. Eyes half-shut and his hair going in every possible direction, he positioned himself in front of the toilet before I'd even excused myself from the bathroom.

"I'll just be outside," I said quickly. He just grunted, and I slipped back out into the bedroom.

Maybe I could tell him now. That way I could get him to agree and then hold it to him later!

After a minute, Michael reappeared, adjusting his boxers and not looking a bit more awake. "Come on. Bed."

"Wait, Michael!" I pressed my hands up against his chest, restraining him from slipping back into dreamland.

Whereas I would be bitchy and grumpy at this point, Michael just rested his hands on my hips and grinned. "You're too cute. Let's go back to sleep and then I'll marry you, mmmkay?"

I couldn't but melt under that warm gaze. "But…but what about my dress?"

"I don't have a tux. No need for dress. Just relax, okay? Fuck tradition."

Which, if you think about it, we'd kind of been doing all along. Unless you take it in the literal sense—and I don't think "Tradition" is in the top five of my pet names for Michael.

_Michael_. The way he just stood there, patiently smiling at me. The way he could handle all my zaniness. They say God shuts a door and opens a window, right? I think maybe he screwed up on this one—allowed lightning to strike the same spot twice.

Whatever it is, I know the odds for this are insanely against my favor. I don't think even Michael could handle the insanity that would cause me to ruin this opportunity.

"Okay," I said with a shaky smile. "Okay, I can do that."

"While you're at it, how about we fu—"

I pulled him back over to the bed, eliciting a boyish grin from him. "Sleep," I said firmly, pushing him down on the mattress.

"Sexy," he chuckled, but he was out within the minute.

I only wish I could say the same.

- - -

America has always prided itself on being a free nation. Even though we borrowed democracy from the ancient Greeks, and we wouldn't even BE here if it weren't for Great Britain and the Vikings, we kind of took everything they gave us and tweaked it until we had our own cool little thing going on. Granted, my homeland is nowhere _near _perfect, but it does offer people the right to free speech, and if a soldier turns up on my stoop in New York, I'm totally permitted to be like, "No way, buddy." But even though everyone is allowed to have their own opinion and all of that, there are some things that just can't be argued, no matter what our forefathers think.

For instance—Brian Bell is a total sassmaster. And…and Howie Dorough is totally underrated! Oh, and Freaks and Geeks should have never EVER been cancelled.

I'll add another to that list—one that has been a long time coming.

Mia Thermopolis, by any name, is a complete idiot.

All the evidence is in! Sandra Day O'Connor laid down the law, and the verdict is:

I'm totally guilty of not trusting Michael Moscovitz to be the best thing that ever happened to me.

Because if I didn't have Michael, I wouldn't be laying in the grass behind some low-rent motel, in the midst of his idea of a honeymoon.

If it weren't for Michael, I wouldn't be scared to death that this flimsy tent would be caving in any second under this torrential downpour.

If not for him, I wouldn't have an adorable little girl that I was totally envying, because she's warm and dry, playing video games inside with her "Uncle Rene."

For lack of Michael, I wouldn't have anyone to cling to and laugh about how this is the craziest thing he's ever talked me into.

"It's kinda cozy," he whispered, pulling me even closer.

"Michael, that was _lightning._ We're gonna die."

"What a way to go," he laughed, probably referring to the fact that our only covering was this pup tent and a single sleeping bag.

"I guess roasting marshmallows is out."

He cracked up at that and, helpless, I joined him. The rain had long since passed when we finally quieted down, Michael wiping a tear out of my eye. "No regrets?"

"Are you kidding?"

He met my eyes carefully, as though unsure of what I would say next.

"I've never been better," I continued, linking my arms around his neck.

The tip of his nose touched mine, our foreheads inclined toward each other. "I think," said Michael, so softly that I could hardly hear him. "that the best is yet to come."

**So this is probably the last thing schwartzibrow will write for a while, if not ever. I'd have to get into touch with my better half to give you a real answer on that one. **

**Um, for anyone that reads "Candle in the Wind," it may seem like the light is out and the wax all gone, but schwartzibrow has not forgotten! Truth be told...schwartzibrow just remembered about that gem.**

**This summer...SOON...**

**Until then, review! Maybe I'll post an epilogue.**


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